Vermilion Revelations
by morning's-broken-angel
Summary: “You know, I’ve always had a very difficult time leaving lines drawn in sand alone.” His lips tipped up at the corners, the skin around his eyes crinkling in humor. “They’re just so mutable.” Jane discovers just how hard it is to leave some things alone.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So I've been watching _The Mentalist_ since the pilot, and I adore the show. I've only recently (read: last few days) checked out any fanfiction for it and was surprised by how little there is yet, particularly for Jane/Lisbon (Jisbon sounds so dirty, doesn't it?). On the bright side, there seems to be a number of really nice stories out there, and what can I say? I got inspired.

I hope you enjoy the start and, since I'm new to this fandom, I should warn you lot- I'm an absolute review whore. :) Anything you've got to say will be greatly appreciated, particularly constructive criticism.

-Hugs-

MBA

* * *

Jane tossed the file he'd been reading onto the table next to them with an annoyed sigh. "For God's sake, woman, give it some time! He's not just going to jump at Rigsby and shout 'Here I am!' It'll happen if you just show some patience, I promise."

"That's it!" she hissed in a low voice, whirling to face the man hovering behind her at the monitor. Lisbon glanced at the others in the room out of the corners of her eyes, but judged them either too far away or too absorbed in their own work to notice this conversation. "I am your boss, Jane- you can call me 'boss' or 'Lisbon' or even 'Teresa' if you absolutely have to, but the next time you call me 'woman', I am going to knock you on your expensive, wrinkled suit-clad ass." She poked a finger into his chest to emphasize the point that she was not joking. She'd been too lax with Jane for far too long.

The amused, if somewhat exasperated smile he'd been wearing had evaporated. "Yes, ma'am," he replied stiffly, blue eyes flat with suppressed anger. Carefully leaning away from her, he collected the folder he'd been perusing while they waited for the suspect to show up and moved as far away from her as he could in the room.

Silence, punctuated only by the clacking of keyboards and the muted instructions passed over microphones to the agents in the field reigned for several minutes. Lisbon heaved a sigh and rolled her shoulders. Jane could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.

"Pardon me, Agent Lisbon, may I speak with you a moment?" The CBI psychologist who'd been brought in on this case because of the suspect's troubled mental history stood a few feet away, her pale blonde hair tucked up neatly into a bun.

Lisbon rubbed at her eyes tiredly. The more she tried to straighten Jane out, make him into a good law enforcement professional, the more it seemed he rebelled. It was exhausting trying to corral his more unorthodox behaviors, and she was reaching the point where she was sick of trying. Patrick Jane was a good man and an exceptional asset to the team, but the next chewing out she got from Minelli for covering for the man was likely to be her last. She'd had an official reprimand added to her file last week, a fact she'd made damn sure never reached her team's ears. They'd try to do something stupid to save her and likely only get their own asses in the frying pan, too. "Yes, Ms. Barbieri?" she asked.

With a gesture, Gina Barbieri motioned the agent to a quiet corner of the room, away from everyone. She had a few observations to share, none of which she thought the somewhat reserved senior agent would want overheard. "If it's not too forward of me, I think I have some insight for you into Mr. Jane that will help the two of you deal better with one another." She paused hesitantly. "Would you like to hear what I have to say? It won't all be pleasant," she warned with a raised hand.

"What is it?" She knew the question was short, but Lisbon was truly tired. Physically tired from the long surveillance period after the longer day, mentally tired from trying to keep Jane from doing something illegal and getting both of them fired, and frankly, emotionally tired.

The psychologist wanted to offer the poor woman some sympathy, which she could clearly use at the moment, or even a comfy chair, which she probably could have used even more. The folding metal chairs they'd stocked this place with were hell on the rear end. "I imagine that someone at your professional level has learned a thing or two about interpersonal communications," she began. Teresa Lisbon was already quite well known at CBI for taking unruly or difficult agents and transforming them into solid professional investigators. Her previous team had been a prime example of her talents.

Lisbon nodded, hoping the neatly pressed and refreshed-looking woman would come to her point quickly. Simply looking at her made Lisbon feel even more worn-out. "Yes," she replied at the woman's inquiring glance. "I took a course on it in college and a few more as continuing education at the agency, but field work kind of helps you develop it on the fly."

"Practical experience, employing the theoretical knowledge gained from the classroom," Gina said with a small smile. "I also suspect you've created a particular style for yourself that works well." At the shorter woman's nod, she continued. "When Patrick Jane was hired, I was assigned to study him, both in his interviews and in his first month as a field consultant. Were you aware of that?"

Lisbon glanced at the monitor a few feet away longingly. Maybe the suspect would save her the psychobabble and attack someone soon. She sighed. "Yes. When Jane was reassigned to my team, Lead Agent Jackson told me. He said that you were nuts yourself to let such a loose cannon through with your approval."

That brought a soft laugh from Gina. "I am fully aware of Mr. Jane's shortcomings, particularly his arrogance and impulsivity. Do you know why I recommended he be moved to permanent consultant status?"

"Because he closes cases like a fiend?" Lisbon shot back, her eyebrows raised to indicate just how stupid a question she thought that was. Why else would anyone think he would be a good fit for the CBI? "My team's got three Governor's Commendations hanging in my office to prove it, too. If he's not a psychic, he's the closest thing I've ever seen."

The blonde reached out and snagged two folding chairs, offering one to the exhausted-looking woman in front of her. "Because I also advised Deputy Director Minelli that he be placed on your team," she said evenly, sinking onto the metal seat. "Mr. Jane's more unfortunate tendencies are areas you seem to handle particularly well in other agents. Agent Cho, for example, was quite the hot potato- arrogant, surly, and insubordinate with superiors. No other senior agent wanted him on their team." Gina smiled broadly. "I understand he's quite the agent these days. He's even been mentioned for promotion to leading his own team in several meetings lately." Leaning forward, she placed a well-manicured hand on Lisbon's jeans-clad knee. "You have a gift for inspiring loyalty in the hardest of agents, and also for turning them into professionals that others wouldn't have imagined they could have become."

Lisbon eyed her warily. "I hear a 'but' coming."

Gina smiled at her. "But you accomplish that by being a no-nonsense mother hen who treats her team like somewhat exasperating but well-loved teenagers. Psychologically, you portray yourself as a woman comfortable acting like a man in the field, but as a mother figure in the office that knows the motivational prompts her children need to grow. At the same time, you erect an emotional shield to keep them all at enough of a distance that they'll remain loyal workers rather than true friends with emotional impact on you." She sat back and regarded the somewhat stunned-looking agent. "Am I being too blunt? I took you as the blunt type."

Lisbon waved a hand dazedly. "No, blunt is good. It's just- wow." She turned wide green eyes on the other woman. "You can tell all of that just from watching at a distance?" Not that she should have been surprised, given the observational powers she'd seen from Jane.

"And listening to office gossip," the psychologist added with a quirk of the lips. "You'd be surprised how much law enforcement types like to pass rumors and information like schoolgirls."

Tucking her somewhat messy hair behind her ear, Lisbon shook her head. "This is fascinating, don't get me wrong, but what does this have to do with reining in Jane?" She held up a finger in warning. "And don't tell me to coddle him, or indulge him, because I won't do it. If he wants to work at CBI, he has to start following the rules."

Gina sighed. "That's just it, Agent Lisbon. He has made remarkable progress in following the rules you've laid out for him, even if you don't see it. Believe me, when he worked for Agent Jackson, he was completely out of control and unwilling to make any sort of interpersonal connection. You, on the other hand, he's put exceptional effort into interacting with on a level you've deemed acceptable."

"I hear another 'but'." Even to her own ears, Lisbon's voice sounded frustrated. She couldn't help sneaking a glance at the topic of their conversation, either. He was propped against the wall, arms folded tightly over his chest as he stared intently at the monitor. His eyes never flickered in her direction.

"But Mr. Jane seems to have certain emotional hurdles that make normal interaction and relationship-building on more than a superficial level difficult. Both of which are understandable, given his history."

Boy, does Barbieri have that right, Lisbon thought to herself, but she also knew that no one but her knew that Jane was institutionalized after the murder of his family. As far as Ms. Barbieri knew, Jane was just dealing with his grief like normal, not like someone who had completely cracked under the pain and self-loathing. "Yes, I'm familiar with that, but I'm not going to give him enough rope to hang us all because he suffered personal tragedy," she said, flexing her hands. "Losing family doesn't mean you get to break the rules without consequence."

The psychologist sat back, a surprised expression on her face as if she'd just realized something that hadn't previously occurred to her. "It's perfectly all right to resent him, you know," she murmured.

Lisbon heaved an annoyed sigh. "I don't resent Jane. No, really, I don't. I just think he has to try to behave a little harder. The ends don't justify the means in our world- they do in his."

Gina frowned. "You've lost someone," she said, a light going off in her head. "Your mother or an older sister?"

"It's in my file," Lisbon responded flatly. She'd thought the bureau psychologist would have known that.

"I wasn't yet with CBI when you were hired," Gina explained. "And I don't make a practice of reading up on employees unless they're referred to me for services or an evaluation." Biting her lip, she wondered whether she should continue this discussion, given the news that had just been revealed. Studying the agent, she decided that perhaps the best way to do this would be to simply lay it out there. "I apologize, but I overheard your earlier conversation with Mr. Jane. To be as blunt as possible, he's trying to assert some form of authority in your eyes."

Lisbon rolled the eyes in question. "I'm his boss. He has no authority to assert, Ms. Barbieri. Besides, you give Jane an inch and he'll not only take the proverbial mile, but also come back and throw it in your face."

The psychologist sat forward, eager to clarify her words. "No, I'm sorry, but that's not what I meant, Agent Lisbon. I meant that he's trying to assert himself in the only avenue left open to him- as a male. He's trying to get you to pay attention to the fact that he is a man and that you are a woman. It's a bid to establish a form of dominance in some part of your relationship, given that you have most of the power in other areas."

Lisbon just gaped at her. _What_ had she just said? "Are you saying that Jane's _hitting on me_?" she whispered, feeling her cheeks flare with color. God, this was mortifying.

"No, no, of course not," Gina soothed automatically. "Well, perhaps," she amended. "I haven't observed your interaction enough to tell. What I'm saying is that he's -subconsciously or not- trying to get you to treat him as a man rather than as a particularly unruly child. Your dealings extend beyond a purely professional relationship, and it seems he's feeling like you don't acknowledge the male aspects of his personality."

The concept absolutely demolished her train of thought. "I only treat him like that when he acts that way," she defended. "Otherwise, I treat him like everyone else on the team."

The psychologist nodded eagerly. "Precisely. Mr. Jane is attempting to change that behavior on your part by changing your dynamic. He doesn't want to be simply another cog in your wheel."

"Narcissist," Lisbon muttered, shooting Jane a dark look across the room. "He's just doing it for attention," she protested to the blonde somewhat desperately.

Gina rose from the chair and dusted off her navy skirt. "Yes, I believe he is. But precisely what type of attention he's trying to garner from you is entirely up for debate, as is whether he's aware of his behavior or not, which is certainly a factor given the difficulty in moving on to new personal relationships after the loss of a significant other." She smiled and offered her hand for a firm handshake from the agent. "I imagine that you'll want to mull this over and address the issue on your own. If, however, you or Mr. Jane would like someone to talk to, I'm available."

Lisbon snorted. She couldn't help it. "Get Jane into a psychologist's office willingly? You've got to be kidding. I'd have to drug him. He hates psychology almost as much as he hates religion and psychics."

Glancing at the blond man in question, Gina smiled enigmatically. "You have a surprisingly deep understanding of the man, Agent Lisbon. I'm somewhat perplexed that you haven't realized the current issue between you sooner." Shaking her head, she smiled sunnily. "Regardless, best of luck. Please keep my offer in mind."

A ruckus erupted in the room.

"Lisbon!" Jane called, jumping to a monitor as a flurry of movement erupted on the screen. "He's here!" He looked up with a devilish twinkle in his eye. "I told you to just have a little patience, didn't I?"

She grimaced even as she flew over to the monitor herself.

* * *

A/N; What do you think? Worth continuing?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow... okay, so this was a really nice surprise- I can honestly say I didn't expect such a response for a new kid on your playground. You guys in this community are all about the sweet, supportive reviews, huh? I know it's trite, but I just wanted to say thanks so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, too!

Hugs,

MBA

PS- I probably need a disclaimer. Here we go- I don't own the Mentalist, the characters, or Simon Baker. I'll have to console myself with the fact that my son has curly blond hair.

* * *

The squad room was awash in bright fluorescent light, in stark contrast to the sky outside. Three in the morning on a Saturday was a hellish time to be at work and unusual even for the CBI, but criminals didn't always have the courtesy of keeping to a nine-to-five weekday schedule. Lisbon sighed and ran a hand through her hair, making a face as she realized it had been almost twenty-four hours since her last shower. She assumed she smelled half as bad as she felt and looked twice as terrible. Fatigue was hell on pale skin. "How's Rigsby?" she asked, pushing open her office door.

Van Pelt hovered around the big man at his desk, pressing a cold compress to one side of his head as he held another to his eye. "Doing okay," she called over her shoulder. "The eye shouldn't bruise up, but I think he might have a concussion."

"Do not," Rigsby retorted, though his words were slightly slurred. Lisbon wondered again why she'd let him get away with waving off the medic at the scene.

Jane was, as Lisbon had suspected he would be, stretched out on the cracked leather couch he'd virtually claimed when he'd first been assigned to her team. Even though his eyes were closed, he held up a hand to give her a thumbs-up. "Van Pelt is doing a wonderful impression of a nurse." His tousled head popped up momentarily, just long enough for him to catch her gaze. "And I concur- he's showing several concussion-related symptoms."

Cho came in from the opposite corridor. "Perp is finally here from Processing. I had him put in Interrogation One, boss." He looked at her expectantly, the file they'd built on the man already tucked under his arm.

Lisbon surveyed her team, feeling her lips pull into a smile. She'd found that her sense of humor was decidedly more twisted when she was sleep-deprived. "Van Pelt- you'll be taking lead on this interrogation. Jane and I will watch from Observation, but he's all yours. Cho- get Rigsby to the hospital, and don't let him talk you out of it." The team goggled at her in unison and she had to fight the urge to laugh.

"But-" Cho stared at her in disbelief.

"Really?" Van Pelt had turned to face her in delight, the compress dangling at her side forgotten.

Rigsby looked more woebegone at the assignments than anyone. He'd apparently been looking forward to more nursing from Van Pelt. "I'm fine," he said, the whine in his voice pronounced enough to make Lisbon's smile grow just a little bigger. "I don't need to go to the hospital."

She leveled a flat stare at him. "Tough. You're going, and that's an order, Rigsby." With a sweep of her hands, she prodded them all into motion. "Come on, you guys, the faster you move, the faster you get home and into bed."

The bustle of the next few minutes and the steaming mug of coffee she'd begged off Watkins over in the Vice department pushed the fuzzy weariness to the back of her brain. Van Pelt had caught a second wind as well, speedily flipping through the file Cho had grudgingly given up as he shoved a grumbling Rigsby towards the exit. Jane was still laid out on his couch. Sipping her coffee with relish, Lisbon sauntered over and gave the frame a good shove with her foot.

"Is Van Pelt ready?" Jane asked without opening his eyes. "I thought she'd be at least another few minutes. She's afraid she's missed some critical piece of information in the file that will mess up her interrogation."

Despite the annoying accuracy of his comment, Lisbon smiled. She knew he was right. "No, she's still reading, but we're telling her that she's got five minutes to get into Interrogation." When he didn't move immediately, she nudged the cushion under him. "C'mon, Jane, I mean it. Get up."

With a yawn and a stretch that would have been ridiculously theatrical on anyone else, Jane finally swung his legs over the side and sat up, automatically reaching for the suit jacket that he'd thrown carelessly over the back.

"It wouldn't hurt for you to send that thing out to get pressed once in a while, you know," Lisbon observed dryly with another long pull of coffee. "Or the shirt- it's called starch. Check it out."

He smiled at her, his eyes absurdly merry for three in the morning. "Civil servant pay barely covers the water and electricity. I'm lucky I can even afford food."

She covered a laugh with a disbelieving snort. "Yeah, Jane, I'm on the same pay scale too, but you don't see me rolling in everyday in my nightgown, do you?"

"You own a nightgown?" He looked momentarily perplexed. "I didn't have you pegged as the nightgown type. You seem more like a woman that sleeps in a tee shirt two laundry cycles away from complete deterioration and a pair of shorts with Mickey Mouse on them."

Lisbon almost choked on her mouthful of coffee, though how he guessed what she slept in shouldn't have surprised her. The man was eerily insightful. "They don't have Mickey on them," she teased, turning away to give Van Pelt her five minute warning.

"Goofy?" he called after her, grinning. Lisbon seemed like the Disney sort. He'd wager she'd been to Disneyland more than a few times. "Minnie?"

---

They'd been in the observation room for a few minutes, watching the interrogation in silence. Lisbon nodded approvingly here and there as Van Pelt asked her questions and pushed the man on certain responses. She was doing great, and Lisbon had to fight to suppress a grin of pride, feeling certain Van Pelt had been ready for this step to solo interrogation for weeks now. It had been the right choice.

"She's doing well," Jane commented next to her, his eyes glued to the scene through the mirrored window. "She has an interesting approach that won't work for everyone, but the mix of sympathy and pressure should be effective with this guy. He's a little unstable mentally and should eat all that doe-eyed compassion right up."

Lisbon nodded. "I'll let her get her footing using her own style for a little while before I start teaching her how to vary method according to the suspect. I don't think she's ready for that step yet. God knows I'm still working on Cho to branch out a little, and Rigsby seems to think that being north of the 200 pound mark is technique."

Clucking his tongue, Jane shook his head in mock disapproval. "Mother Teresa won't let her babies grow up," he sighed with a slow smile. "Always the protective mama."

"Well, someone has to be," she retorted, immediately sorry she'd let her mouth get the best of her. Arguing with Jane always felt like she was just giving ammunition to the sniper that had his sights set on her. With him, it truly was a case of anything you say can and will be used against you. She turned determinedly back to the window.

Jane laid a hand on her elbow in the briefest of touches. "Oh, come on, she's doing fine. It won't kill you to talk to me for a second here." He eyed her, face serious. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier during surveillance, Lisbon; I was just joking with you."

Oh God, she really didn't want to be having this conversation tonight or this morning or whatever the hell it was now, particularly with the psychologist's words still so fresh in her mind. Actually, she didn't want to _ever_ have this discussion, but she at least needed time to process it all in her head. "Yeah, it's okay, Jane. I was just tired, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

He looked at her, head cocked in consideration, for such a long time that he could actually see the faint color creep up her cheeks. Lisbon was blushing. "Why are you embarrassed?"

"I'm not embarrassed," she snapped, hiding behind her coffee mug. She wished suddenly for long hair like Van Pelt's, which would have made a much more effective screen than a stupid little coffee cup.

"You are so," he replied in delight. "You're blushing. Your cheeks are a nice rosy red and your neck is starting to mottle."

A hand flew automatically to her throat. "Stop it," she hissed, wrong-footed. It seemed like every time she wanted Jane to leave something alone, he jumped on it out of pure perversion. "Unit cohesion is important in our line of work, and it centers on appropriate respect between subordinates and superiors. Even though you're joking, others that hear it understand on some level that lines have been crossed."

He propped a hip on the windowsill and fully turned to consider her. "You know, I've always had a very difficult time leaving lines drawn in sand alone." His lips tipped up at the corners, the skin around his eyes crinkling in humor. "They're just so mutable."

"That's my point," Lisbon exclaimed, gesturing so wildly with her mug that coffee sloshed over the rim onto her hand. "You can't just go around erasing every line just because it's some childish compulsion. Some lines are there for a reason."

"And some are simply silly random marks meant for the lowest common denominator so that the sheep can feel they've imposed limits on the shepherds."

He produced a napkin for her, from where she didn't know, but she took it anyway with an automatic 'thanks'. Mopping up as best as she could, Lisbon silently thanked God that she was a firm believer in dark jackets. They covered absolutely everything, from mud to blood to coffee. She aimed at the trashcan across the room and launched the sodden mass, smiling in satisfaction as the napkin disappeared over the edge before turning to skewer Jane with a glare. "This is not a silly random line, Jane; this is how I run my team. I like having you on my team- you're a valuable asset and a decent guy, but if you keep chipping away at every rule I give you, I'm going to be history and so are you."

His golden eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You've been threatened by Minelli?" he asked, disbelief shining out of his blue eyes. "I always knew the man was a simpleton," he added in a mutter.

"Thank you. Your opinion on the matter changes everything," she shot back wryly. "The point is, I've been warned. You're getting out of hand, and instigating the catfight between the widow and her stepdaughter last week nearly got the both of us chucked. Minelli has made the rules very clear. You need to toe the line, Jane, or at least give me enough warning so that I can contain the damage."

His blue eyes were serious as he stared at her. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't know," he finally offered, seemingly at a loss for words. With sudden emotion, he added, "I'd never knowingly put you in jeopardy, Lisbon. I hope you know that."

The urge to reach out and pat his hand nearly overwhelmed her, but Lisbon swallowed it down. "I know, but I also know that the problem is that you don't always think. You go off half-cocked, always assuming that your way is the only way things can work out."

"I am never half-cocked," he defended indignantly. "I always think things out to the conclusion."

Lisbon quirked an eyebrow at him. "What about getting yourself locked in a burning barn with a man determined to chop you up?"

He bit his lip. "That was an aberration. Cho and Rigsby were supposed to be there."

Nodding, she added, "And when you got out-psyched by that psychic?"

Jane took an indignant step towards her. "I still say that charlatan was in on it!"

With a smile, Lisbon unleashed the attack she'd been holding in reserve. "Of course. But what about the time you ended up dangling from that balcony while the maid tried to beat you with a broom for breaking into her employer's house?"

He glared at her, though the pull of a self-deprecating smile at the corners of his mouth softened the expression. "That was Cho's fault, and you know it. I told him not to call my cell phone unless someone was dying. She'd have never known I was there if the phone hadn't rung."

Lisbon gave him her best pointed look. "And none of those incidents makes you think that it might be better to obey the very few rules I give you instead of plowing on like we're a bunch of drooling idiots you have to haul along in your wake?" She was facing him now, completely giving up on the attempt to appear as if she was also still monitoring the interrogation.

He pointed one finger at her. "I do not consider you an idiot, and neither are Cho, Rigsby or Van Pelt. I want to be very clear on this point, Lisbon." His eyes dropped for the briefest of instants. "But I will work on being more respectful and trying to include everyone in my plans."

That was a major step, she thought. "All right." She'd let this drop for now. There was only so far you could push Jane before he'd snap back out of obstinacy. "Look, Van Pelt's got him backed into a corner. He's exhibiting a number of confession signals."

"You're excited for her," Jane remarked, coming to stand at her shoulder. "It's a big thing the first time, isn't it?"

Lisbon smiled. Van Pelt would be over the moon when she absorbed all of this. "Yeah, firsts are always a big deal in everything, you know?"

"Milestones," he acknowledged with a flicker of a smile. "Birthdays, kisses, dates, anniversaries, deaths- they're always the markers you remember the longest."

Jane fell silent, and Lisbon knew he was thinking of his family. Despite the difficultly she had in offering physical support to people, she swallowed hard and pushed her own issues to the side. This was about him losing his entire world, not her discomfort with reaching out.

She stretched her fingers back and touched his hand for just a moment, just long enough to show that she understood.

* * *

A/N: Yay! More than one tiny moment of Jane/Lisbon interaction this time... but there's so much more to come. *rubs hands and practices evil laugh*

So I have to confess- I love UST. Love it. I fully intend to let them dance around each other for a little while, so if you're hoping for the smex in a chapter or two, I'm probably not the girl for you. But near misses and oozing sexuality? Yeah, I can do that. :)

What are you waiting for? Go on, make with the clicky click on the green button, please. Or I'll be forced to send Tamsin Dove after you.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, for which I'm sorry, but it was an idea I wanted to explore early for some amusing payoff next chapter.

Happy St. Paddy's Day to all of you, and big hugs to everyone that left such awesome reviews last chapter. They made me squee. ;)

Hugs,

-MBA

* * *

When Lisbon walked into the bullpen, the team was already swarming around, collecting weapons and gear and calling out directions to Meeks Bay.

"No, it's right on Route 89, which means we need to get on I-80. I'm looking at Google Maps right now," Van Pelt argued, turning away from the computer to make a face at Rigsby.

Chin thrust out stubbornly, he pulled himself up to his full and very impressive height. "50 is faster. We went to Tahoe all the time when I was a kid. We should take Route 50."

"Nope, it's not our case today, boys and girl," Lisbon announced, raising her voice to be heard over the brewing spat. "Martinowicz's team is covering for us." Everyone froze, turning to her slowly with looks of perfectly concerted incredulity on their faces.

"Those guys?" Van Pelt asked, scrunching her nose in distaste as she set her weapon back in its drawer and carefully locked it.

"Third-stringers," Rigsby grumbled, earning a short laugh from Cho.

Jane looked as if something repugnant had been waved under his nose. "Those half-wits couldn't detect their collective way out of a shoebox, Lisbon." He pointed back at the small television in the corner. "This is already plastered all over the news. It's a big case, and we're the best he's got. Why wouldn't Minelli give it to us?"

By 'us', he meant him, Lisbon was fairly certain. "Ego has no place in our business," she said with a shrug. "We're off field duty today. I've got an order here for all of us to report to Medical for our quarterly fitness assessments." She checked the schedule. "Cho, you're up first. You know the drill."

With a frowning 'yes, boss', he grabbed the gym bag from beneath his desk and headed for the elevator.

"And where do you think you're going?" Lisbon asked as Jane pulled on his jacket.

"I'm a consultant." He gave her a puzzled look. "I don't do physicals."

Motioning him to take the jacket back off, she flashed the list at him. "You do now, Jane. You're up between Cho and me." Scanning the area around his seldom-used desk, she added, "I hope you can pull sneakers and some gym clothes from thin air as easily as you pulled that quarter from Rigsby's mouth yesterday, because I'd hate to see the blisters you'd get from doing the two mile run in those ratty old shoes."

Jane glanced at his beaten, worn-down brown dress shoes. "I like these," he protested mildly. "They're comfortable." Uneasily, he added, "You're playing, right, Lisbon?"

Setting the memo on a desk with a sigh, she shook her head. "Sorry, 'fraid not. Minelli said policy was altered at the beginning of the year because the LA office had a consulting kinesics expert drop dead of an aneurysm right in the middle of an interrogation, so you're on the hook now, too. Something about liability insurance premiums." Lisbon made a helpless face. "If I'd known about this sooner, Jane, I'd have warned you. Sorry."

"And I have to do the sit-up, push-up, run thing you guys do?" He snorted. "I'm more likely to drop dead from that than anything I do in the field." Sinking onto his couch, Jane stared at her with wide eyes. "Can I put it off for a while? I really don't have anything to wear besides this." He motioned at his suit. "And I'm fairly certain I won't be able to run two miles. I haven't exactly made aerobic activity a priority this decade."

Taking pity, Lisbon made the decision to at least try to go to bat for him. "I'll tell you what- I'll go plead your case, see if I can't at least get your exercise section pushed back until the next time, tell them you've got a bad back or something." Eyes narrowed in thought, she added, "They'll probably make you take the medical portion today, though."

"You don't have to make it sound as if I'm old and decrepit," he said, slightly offended at the proposed lie. "I'm certain I'm capable of passing your test standards. Just not today."

"You don't even know what the qualifying marks are, Jane!" she shot back in exasperation. Even when he was asking for a favor, he still wanted it on his terms. Lisbon eyed him beadily. "I'll do what I can, but you need to get a bag with tee shirt, shorts, socks and sneakers and keep it here, okay? We'll get you on a fitness program so we don't have to go through this fiasco again. I can't promise you'll have much advance warning the next time, either."

Not waiting for a response, she headed for Minelli's office, mentally constructing a solid story as to why Jane couldn't take the fitness test today. She grinned as a sudden thought took her. That would work.

---

"You told him I'd been assaulted by an exotic dancer?" he demanded indignantly, pushing into her office without his customary polite knock.

Lisbon just sat back, grinning, and folded her hands on her stomach. "What? It's the perfect lie. We just closed the strip club murder case, and that-" She mimed very large breasts. "-chesty one, Candy Cane, did take exception to you. Besides, it wouldn't be the first -or even the fifth- time you've been hit by somebody."

His lips pursed into a momentary pout. "I think the term you're searching for is 'buxom,' and I can't believe you got me out of this silly test by claiming my foot was stomped on by a stripper wearing platforms." Jane felt his mouth twitch into a smile. "You should see the looks I'm getting from people, Lisbon. Mary over in Forensics actually patted my cheek."

"I told you, it's the perfect cover. You've got a couple months now until the next evaluation period to get in shape and no one's the wiser." She grinned unrepentantly. "And every time I see a candy cane from now on, I'll think of you."

"You're a cold, cold woman, Lisbon," he replied mildly, smiling back.

---

"You tell him."

"What do I care? It's your idea, you take care of it. You're a big boy, Rigsby, you don't need Daddy to hold your hand."

Jane sighed. He'd been dozing pleasantly until the hushed conversation caught his ear. "Really, I won't bite, guys. Either one of you can divulge your little secret." Craning his neck around, he saw the two men standing together by Van Pelt's empty desk. Both she and Lisbon had already gone home for the evening.

Cho nodded shortly. "Yeah, okay. We play ball together every Thursday night after work. You want to come?"

Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck embarrassedly, Rigsby added, "Lisbon told us you were looking to start working out. You play basketball, right?" He was wondering is, in fact, Jane did. He wasn't exactly the basketball type.

"Yes, Rigsby, I am capable of playing basketball," Jane said with a wry grin. The man looked dubious. "Granted, it's not my favorite sport, but I can dribble a basketball without tripping over my own feet."

With a quick glance at his watch, Cho heaved his bag over his shoulder. "Great. See you at seven next Thursday." As they turned to leave he added, "And you need to hit the weights. You're scrawny."

Wrinkling his nose even as he waved good night, Jane sighed. Even happily ensconced at home, probably sitting on her own couch with a microwaved dinner and an action comedy on her television, Lisbon managed to interfere in his life to an almost annoying degree. He sank back on his couch and contemplated his soon to be exercise regimen. It was going to be horrible. He hated basketball, almost as much as he hated lifting hunks of metal over his head repeatedly.

* * *

A/N: Now I haven't the faintest idea if police departments have fitness assessment requirements, but I know the FBI does, and I'm figuring our fictional CBI would cleave more closely to their standards than to local units'. If not, well hey- call it creative license.

As always, reviews are love!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Warning- this is a monster chapter that runs the gamut from silliness to serious drama. I couldn't find the right place to cut it, so I called it quits at two a.m. and figured I'd just dish up the entire beast. Because I'm greedy, I'm hoping you all will reciprocate and leave a monstrous number of reviews. ;D

Hugs,

MBA

* * *

Mondays were always awful- it was just a matter of to what degree they sucked. If it was a weekend that Lisbon's team wasn't on call, she went home and relaxed and rediscovered that she did, indeed, have patience. Then she'd behave like normal come Monday morning, alternately joking with her team and wishing longingly for another good ten hours of sleep. If she'd been in the office most of Saturday and Sunday because it was their turn on the duty roster, she was grumpy enough to threaten multiple people with bodily harm if they entered her office without donuts, coffee or good news.

Cho, smart bastard that he was (given their weekend), came bearing two of the three. "Chocolate with sprinkles," he announced, shouldering through her door to drop the donut and its napkin in front of her. "I grabbed it for you before Jane got to it."

Sadly, her supply of the treat had declined precipitously since Jane joined the team- not only did he favor her rainbow sprinkled, chocolate drenched donut of choice, but he was also disturbingly adept at getting to them before her. She grinned. "Which translates roughly to 'he's late today,' right?"

The small smirk on his mouth said that she'd been correct.

"I just got out of the department meeting. We're off weekends for the next month." Cho gave her a full-blown grin. A whole month off was unheard of. "And," he added, drawing the word out with relish, "the state budget was approved. The salary increase isn't rumor anymore. We go up eight percent across the board effective next month."

Lisbon thought about climbing on her desk and dancing a jig. She settled for a pleased laugh. There was a new couch she'd been eyeing for months- now it looked like she'd finally be able to afford it without using her credit card. "Great. Hey, thanks for taking that meeting for me," she said, still grinning.

Her second-in-command nodded. "No problem."

After he left, she contentedly demolished her donut, even swiping the spots of icing from the napkin with a finger. No weekend shift. More money. Jane missing her donut. Today was going to be a fantastic day; she could feel it in her bones.

---

"Lisbon!"

Damn. It had been a perfect Monday until the implied annoyance in that single word. She'd been just about to mention how nice it was to have Jane behave for a change, too. He hadn't even pouted when he'd noticed the lack of his favorite donut in the kitchen. "Yes, boss?" she called up to Minelli, who was peering down at her with a frown over the railing in front of his office, clutching a paper in his hand.

"Up here for a minute."

Climbing the spiral staircase slowly, she wondered what she was in hot water for this time. Probably Jane. He was the cause of a vast majority of her headaches.

She'd barely gained the top step when Minelli unceremoniously shoved the paper he'd been holding into her hand.

"Here," he announced. "Read it. Enforce it. I've got a meeting in ten minutes. See you later."

"Yes, sir," Lisbon mumbled to the retreating back. She scanned the memo quickly before calling out, "Hey, boss! It doesn't say why. Is there a problem?"

"Confidentiality, Lisbon. Medical tests are privileged. You have everything you need to know right there."

Sighing, she headed back to her team's bullpen in time to see Van Pelt gathering her keys. "Where are you off to?"

"Coffee run," was the dismayed reply. "I drew the short straw."

Craning her neck to look out the window, Lisbon noted the sheets of rain falling from the grey sky. It hadn't been raining when she'd come in, but even the fact that her umbrella was at home couldn't derail her good mood. "You know, I'll do it," she offered suddenly, glancing at the paper and holding out her hand for the keys to the Suburban. She smiled at Van Pelt, who looked afraid to hope she'd heard her correctly. "List of orders too, please."

Visibly grateful, Van Pelt dumped both in her hands hurriedly, as if afraid she would change her mind. "Thanks," she sighed with heartfelt emotion.

---

"Cho," Lisbon called, squelching into the office, stopping at his desk to deposit the first steaming cup. "Triple espresso with cream and sugar."

"Large hot chocolate." She offered the cup to Van Pelt, who pointed at Rigsby with a smirk.

"What?" he asked, collecting the offered drink. "It's good."

"Decaf, two sugars, no milk must be you, then," Lisbon noted, passing the coffee off to Van Pelt's eager hands. With a wicked smile, she carried the cardboard cup holder with three drinks over to Jane, who was sitting up and waiting with obvious anticipation. The damp, pervading chill of the day had settled in the drafty building, a fact she was all the more aware of now that she was soaked to the skin. At least she had a dry change of clothes in her office.

"That's me," Jane said, pulling a large cup marked 'T- XTRA SGR & HVY CRM' in black marker from the holder, only to have the cup plucked right back out of his hands. "Hey!" he protested. "Lisbon!"

She smirked evilly. "This one is yours." Lisbon passed him one marked 'CHAM T- BLK' with smug anticipation. The confounded look on his face was priceless. She turned on her heel, heading his impending complaints off at the pass.

Jane was, of course, having none of that. He followed her all the way to her office, trying to reach over her shoulder and get his cup while avoiding her slapping hand. "Ha ha, Lisbon, you've had your fun. May I have my tea now, please?"

Dropping her own cup on her desk, secure in the knowledge that Jane wouldn't touch her plain black coffee with a ten-foot pole, she ducked around him and headed right back out, the rubber soles of her sensible work shoes squeaking noisily all the way. "Nope. Minelli's instructions. 'Jane is to eat better and exercise more. Doctor's orders. Make sure he obeys.' And that's a direct quote, too. So no more tea with the works for you- you now like herbal tea. Plain herbal tea."

"I liked herbal tea before," Jane said weakly, eyeing the cup she kept just out of his reach, "but that doesn't mean I don't want my order. C'mon, Lisbon, last one for old times' sake, and all that." At her arch look, he snapped, "What are you going to do with my tea besides give it to me? No one else drinks it. You wouldn't waste money like that and we both know it, so just hand it over, Lisbon."

She reached the divider that separated their area from Jackson's team. "Maggs!" she called. "Hey, Magglianetto! You over there?" Even in her work shoes, she wasn't quite tall enough to see over the plastic divider.

"Yo," came the gruff reply. "What's goin' on, Lisbon?"

She sent Jane a winsome smile over her shoulder. "I got you a tea. You like extra sugar and cream, right?"

"Yeah," he replied in his thick New Jersey accent. "Blonde as Christina Aguilera and twice as sweet. That's me." A hand appeared over the plastic screening, grabbed the cup and disappeared again. "Thanks, Lisbon. You're a doll."

She smiled fondly at the blank wall. Maggs had been the very first agent she'd ever had assigned to her. "Yeah well, don't tell the rest of your team it's from me, okay? I don't feel like listening to them whine about not getting them anything."

"No problem. Next round's on me," he replied over the clacking of a keyboard. "Catch you later, Lisbon. I gotta report due in twenty."

She turned around, smile still in place, to see a very surprised Jane staring at her.

"I can't believe you gave my tea away," he murmured, stunned. "That coffee shop uses PG Tips tea, Lisbon. It's real English black tea, not the watery imitation bags we have here. I've been looking forward to a cup all day." He was further nonplussed at the dark humor in her eyes as she stepped closer and poked him in the stomach, her shoes making loud squeaks on the tiled floor. Even her hair was soaked, plastered to her head like a dripping black cap.

"Just wait until I send you running with Van Pelt," Lisbon announced with a self-satisfied smile. "Can't have our consultant dropping dead of heart disease in the middle of a case, now can we?"

"It's just a little high cholesterol," he protested. "I could just take a pill and not worry about it. And I got on that infernal treadmill three times last week, so I have been exercising." He paused, eyes wide and pupils dilated in surprise. "I really can't believe you gave him my tea, Lisbon. That was cold."

Rolling her eyes, she patted his arm. "I've read the warnings on my father's pills, Jane. They all say 'use in conjunction with a sensible diet and exercise,' which you'll be doing while here at work, since a little birdie told me you were walking so slow on the treadmill that a toddler could keep up instead of jogging. No more pizza or Chinese, either," she added as an afterthought. 'We'll start ordering the vegetarian option for you."

She walked away with the very amusing whine 'But Lisbon!' in her ears. It felt nice getting one over on Jane. The opportunity came around so rarely.

---

She'd known Mondays always sucked, but Lisbon had thought she'd encountered the first real exception. Even Minelli's surprise earlier that day had turned into a satisfyingly comedic chance to beat Jane at his own game. Instead, fifteen minutes before the night-duty team for the week assumed duty, they'd gotten the call. A state senator's family found in a ravine in the family Saab with two dead and one missing. Yes, all Mondays did suck after all.

The drive to Santa Cruz felt longer than it actually was, what with Rigsby putting in headphones in the back seat and Jane beside her, continually yapping about this, that and the other. He kept circling back around to her 'cruel' prank earlier with his tea.

"You know what, Jane?" Lisbon growled after twenty minutes of his incessant carping. "You're absolutely right. I'm sorry. I'd be happy to ignore a direct order from my boss. In fact, I'll let you sit on your couch all day every day." She kept glancing over at him, only daring to take her eyes from the road for a second at a time. "And I'll order you a dozen donuts every morning, fried food for every lunch and encourage you to actually sleep even less at night." She snapped her fingers and exclaimed sarcastically, "Oh wait. You do that already, you arrogant idiot. You have to take care of yourself, Jane. High cholesterol at your age is pure lack of good sense on your part and easily avoidable if you actually cared enough to try."

"It's not arrogance," he countered easily, choosing to ignore the rest of her tirade. "It's charm- flair, if you will. Innate charisma." He gave her a winning smile. "You either have it or you don't."

Lisbon rolled her eyes and gave him a good poke in the ribs with her right hand. "Stop coming up with synonyms. It's arrogance."

"You just say that because you're jealous," he replied airily. "You wish you weren't so easily embarrassed by attention."

"I am not," she exclaimed loudly, hurriedly lowering her voice when Rigsby shifted in the back seat. He'd been dozing. "I talk to people all the time in our work, Jane. It's impossible to be good at what we do and be shy."

"Ah, but that's work," he said with a knowing air. "Personal attention spooks you like a skittish cat." He pointed suddenly. "Watch out for that car."

"I see it." Smoothly, she changed lanes, avoiding the aggressive driver next to them. She made a face. "Nice comparison."

"Well…" He glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes with a sly grin. "Have you seen your hair when it's humid? You bear a remarkable resemblance to a cat with its back up."

Lisbon gritted her teeth. And to think she had at least another two hours of this to look forward to.

"What?" Jane asked innocently when she didn't respond. "I like cats. They're aloof and interesting all at the same time. Plus, they can go from cuddling you to scratching your face off in a heartbeat." He grinned. "Fickle, if you know what I mean."

She harrumphed and continued to focus on the road ahead of her. If they were lucky and avoided any serious traffic snarls, they'd get to the crime scene while it was still light out. If not, she'd get the pleasure of a bitchy phone call from Minelli demanding to know why they hadn't arrived on time. It was Monday. She grimaced and glanced at the phone lying innocently on the seat between her and Jane. One guess as to the more likely option.

---

Twilight was just starting to set in as she, Rigsby and Jane climbed out of the Suburban. Cho had called for instructions, and he and Van Pelt were now taking the sedan over to the hotel with their bags to check everyone in. On the bright side, Lisbon thought as she stretched her sore back, the second they were done here, unless there were leads the thirty-something police officers milling around hadn't checked out, she'd be able to at least go sit in a cozy hotel chair while the team went over options and information.

"Boss?" Rigsby stood with the crime scene kit, waiting for her instructions. Jane was still fiddling with something on the other side of the vehicle.

"Come on," Lisbon sighed, waving him over. "Let's go talk to the locals, find out the deal."

Over an hour later, full night had set in and she was ready to walk over to the nearest tree and begin bashing her head against it. The combination of the senator's status, the dead wife and child, a missing twelve-year old boy and the general political melee that ensued in such cases was ridiculous. The local PD were scowling at the state police, who were whispering on their cells and shooting her nasty glares. Screw 'em, she thought. It felt like everyone here was trying to look good for the camera crews across the road rather than find a missing kid and figure out who'd caused the accident- the woman had clearly not decided to turn right off the middle of a bridge with her kids in the car. She looked around in dismay as the reporters called out questions to everyone in earshot. The senator's handlers were the worst; they kept crossing the police line to murmur to various cops, only to retreat to the reporters' microphones. Publicity whores, the lot of them.

"I feel like I need a top hat and a bullwhip in this circus," Rigsby sighed as he came back to her. He offered her his notes. "M.E. said it's hard to tell from the field exam, what with the fire and everything, but she thinks a hole in the wife's skull was from a bullet rather than the explosion. The kid's neck was snapped." He swallowed hard and accepted the steadying pat his boss gave his arm. He could deal with a lot of crap, but the kids always got to him. "She said it was from the crash. Instantaneous."

Lisbon nodded, flipping through his notes. "Any sign of the missing kid?"

"Nothing." Plowing a hand through his hair, Rigsby looked around for Jane, but the darkness and the floodlights created weird pockets of shadow he couldn't see anything in. "They brought in the scenting dogs, but no hits. The senator insisted on a search party, though, so Forestry has been brought in to check the countryside."

"They're not going to find him out there," she mumbled, squinting at his cramped writing. "Terrain's fairly easy to navigate, and there's not a lot of scrub or undergrowth. Plus there are too many roads through this area- a twelve year old wouldn't be lost for long out here."

He had to agree. "Look, boss, you're not going to like this, but there's not much else I think we can get here tonight. Maybe we should go back to the hotel and start fresh in the morning."

Even though it was counter-intuitive with a missing child and a high profile case, Lisbon had to agree. She'd talked to everyone, down to the shaky rookie highway patrol officer that had first seen the smoldering car. There were no hot leads, no eyewitnesses, no trace of the missing boy. Their best bet was that smearing this all over the news would produce a tip. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Yeah, all right. I'm going to talk to a few more people. Meet up at the truck in twenty minutes. And Rigsby?" She waited until she had his full attention. "Go back and find the medical examiner. Give her our number; I want to know the second she identifies the caliber of the suspected bullet on the wife. It may lead somewhere."

"Yes, boss."

She watched him trot away and craned her neck for a view of Jane. He'd begun at her side earlier and had wandered off at some point; she shrugged. He'd turn up when he'd found something.

Spotting the man she wanted to talk to, Lisbon trudged back up the embankment. Marcus Williams, the senator's aide, was surrounded by the media. Well, she'd just wait for him then. There was something about the man that was simply too polished, too on the ball given the tragedy befalling his boss' family. She wanted to see if she could press anything out of him if she had a minute alone with him.

The slither of something sliding around her throat and into her blouse startled Lisbon badly. It had taken several moments to figure out that it had been her necklace snapping, and several more to discover that the cross was no longer on the broken chain.

"Dammit," she cursed softly, checking the ground at her feet and shaking out her blouse as inconspicuously as possible. The damn darkness would make it nearly impossible to find her cross if it wasn't right next to her. Sneaking a look over her shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention, she hooked a thumb in her bra band and tugged to see if the cross had lodged in there. A twig snapped behind her and she whirled around guiltily.

Jane stood a few feet from her, studying her quizzically. "You look upset, Lisbon. Do you need some cheering up?"

Before she could reply to his odd question, he'd closed the few feet between them and tipped his face down so close that she could see the dark blue flecks around his pupils in the floodlight blazing over her shoulder. Opening and closing her mouth, she couldn't get a sound out as he gently threaded his hands through her hair, closing one around the tangled waves at the nape of her neck. The knowing smile on his lips was enough to raise the hairs on her arms.

With a chuff of victory, Jane straightened, offering up a fist to Lisbon, who looked as if she'd been stunned. "Your cross," he explained when she blinked owlishly up at him. Flipping it over his knuckles, he waved it in front of her nose. "It was caught in the snarl at the back of your neck."

"Thanks," she said brusquely, snatching it from his grasp and threading it back onto the broken chain in her hand. "Find anything interesting?"

"That Williams guy is hiding something, but I don't think it has anything to do with this. Possibly embezzlement or fraud of some sort." Jane peered more closely at Lisbon who seemed strangely loathe to meet his gaze. He reached out on a whim and snagged the cross from her open hand before she could respond. "Do you mind?"

She goggled at him. The nerve. "I do, actually," Lisbon growled, trying to take her necklace back. Damn him, he wouldn't release it, and she wasn't about to risk yanking it out of his hand and losing it for real this time. "Jane, give it back," she huffed.

He didn't know what made him do it; maybe it was the Medina case a month earlier, or maybe it was simply the little thrill that rippled through him every time he got to do this particular parlor trick. Whatever the motivation, Jane soon found himself rubbing the tiny gold cross between his thumb and forefinger. "You miss your mother more at times like these, don't you?" he asked gently, watching her face.

Lisbon withdrew sharply, tearing her hand away from where it rested on the necklace he still held. "And how in the world do you know that?" she asked waspishly. "No, let me guess- it's the way I blink, or maybe how many times I swallowed in the last ten seconds." Every line in her body was fraught with outrage and tension.

"No," Jane responded in a calm voice. He wasn't trying to infuriate her; on the contrary, he wanted her to understand that bringing things out in the open would be cathartic for her. "Those things only tell me that you find my suggestion accurate. They speak to the symptoms, not the cause."

She glared at him, arms folded tightly. The night chill was suddenly much more noticeable. "Or you Googled me. That's it, isn't it?" She wanted to stalk away, but she wasn't leaving without her cross. "You asked one of the others where I'm from and Googled me. Well listen up, Jane. I don't want to talk about it." She enunciated very slowly and clearly. "Take your circus act somewhere it's appreciated and leave my history out of it."

"I didn't Google you, Lisbon," he denied gently. "It's simply that you never wear jewelry of any sort except for the cross on your neck. You're not overly religious, since you can tolerate my disdain for their false proclamations of divinity everyday. Therefore, it has sentimental value. The cases that we handle that involve family vehicular deaths -like today- always bother you the most, so I'd wager that you received the necklace from someone you lost to a car accident. The manner you behave in suggests it was your mother. You always try to take care of all of us, control everything, because you're afraid of losing someone else. You likely ended up having to assume her role as caretaker."

She faced him coolly. "I wore the necklace and earrings you gave me." Lisbon held out her hand in a silent demand. "I want my cross back now, Jane."

"You were playing dress-up," he rebutted. "The emeralds I gave you were just a fairy tale in your mind." He held the cross tighter. The moment he gave it back, she'd be gone like the fabled flash of green at sunset.

Biting her lips to keep from yelling, Lisbon lowered her voice further. "Jewelry in this field is frowned on. Now give it back before I take out my stun gun and zap you, Jane. I'm not playing."

Tracing the outline a final time, he extended his hand. "Your mother must have loved you very much to give you this, Lisbon. It's old; probably a family heirloom. She trusted you." The expression on her face told him he'd read wrong, and the little zings of excitement in his blood evaporated like water on a frying pan. "Lisbon-" He laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," she hissed as she shook him off, horrified to hear the thick tears in her voice as she physically recoiled from him. It had been decades since it had happened; she had no reason to be so touchy now, especially since she knew someday Jane would try to read her like this. She'd been a fool to react so strongly.

Mesmerized, Jane watched in horrified fascination as a single tear welled over her lashes and slipped past the curve of her cheek, catching and refracting the floodlights. The sheer condemnation in her eyes felt like the sharpest of blows and for the first time since he'd remembered Carol Gentry, Jane thought about how much his talents shaded towards violation. "I'm sorry."

Lisbon dashed at her eyes fiercely. "You don't get to apologize," she snarled, keeping her voice low. "You had no right, Jane. No right." Turning on her heel, she stalked away, only to stop after a few steps.

"Lisbon-" he tried, feeling ashamed.

She whirled to face him once again. "My mother died when I was thirteen years old. I can't even remember exactly what she looked like anymore, but I can remember that I never got to say goodbye. I never got to hear about family traditions or receive heirlooms she wanted to give me." She dangled the broken necklace with its little cross from limp fingers. "My father gave this to me before the funeral. It was my mother's, and he was throwing everything of hers away in a drunken fit. I cried, and I begged, and he woke up long enough to throw me a scrap." Her eyes held a terrible, hollow pain he recognized all too well. "Don't you dare tell me how you know my mother gave it me, Jane."

As she walked away, a small dark shadow among more shadow, Jane grimaced. He didn't know what he'd been trying to accomplish, but he knew he had to set things right.

He frowned after her, looked up at the sky for a moment and headed for the other side of the dusty road. Mr. Williams had finally stepped away from the press to take a phone call. Now would be a perfect opportunity to talk to him again; later at the hotel, he'd find a way to make things right with Lisbon.

Assuming she didn't leave him there in her rage.

* * *

A/N: Okay, because I just have to get this off my chest (my apologies for those of you who aren't into Battlestar Galactica- go ahead and skip to the last A/N):

The finale? Pretty awesome overall. The ol' girl's final mission? Fraktastic. The ending they gave to Kara and Lee? Unforgivably lame. Seriously. We waited four frakking years of love, hate and perfectly tortured interactions, now complete with flashbacks to the equally awesome beginning, to see THAT? OMGWTF *wields pitchfork* RDM had better watch his six. I was _invested_, dammit.

… Ahem. Like I said, sorry. Needed to get that out before I woke up my husband just to say, "I frakking hate Ron D. Moore for this."

A/N2: But this is a Mentalist fic, and Jisbon makes everything better, so do your little part for my emotional satisfaction (shamelessly swiped the phrase from 'Bloodshot', which was a great epi), please?

It'll only take you a second- that's right, I know you're looking at that little review button with the seductively (emerald) green writing. Jane's not the only one with skills, yo. Click it. You know you want to. :D


	5. Chapter 5

She had, indeed, left without him.

Barely ten minutes had passed during his conversation with the supercilious Mr. Marcus Williams, but when Jane made his way back to the Suburban, the only one there was Rigsby, leaning against the hood and making notes in a file. "Ready to go?" Jane asked, craning his neck to look for Lisbon over Rigsby's shoulder.

"Yep." Tucking the file into his crime scene kit, Rigsby flashed a tired smile at his very confused-looking colleague. In a moment of compassion, he dug the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Jane. "Here, man, I'm beat. Boss never lets you drive. Go nuts."

More confused now than ever, Jane held up the keys. "Uh- don't you think Lisbon is going to get mad? I mean, I appreciate the gesture and all, but I don't think tonight is the most opportune moment for defying her, Rigsby." Gently, he laid the keys on the hood. "Maybe it's best if we let her drive."

The burly agent furrowed his brows. "Dude, Lisbon took off ten minutes ago. Do you think I'd make the offer if she was still here? No way. She practically had a thundercloud following her around."

"What?" That had most certainly not been the answer Jane was expecting. Having her leave him here? Yes, that she would do as a petty show of pique. But take off alone, walking an unfamiliar rural highway in the pitch black? She was a consummate professional. He would never have imagined her to succumb to such stupidity. "And you let her?" Granted, that last question had come out with a bit more shocked aggression than he'd intended, but it was too late to call it back.

Nostrils flaring, Rigsby made a helpless motion. "And you would have had me do what about it, Oh Smart One? She was pissed, like I'm-going-to-shoot-you-if-you-defy-me-in-any-way pissed. So I caught the keys she threw at me and got the number of the squad car that took her to the hotel, just in case."

Jane checked the heaving sigh of relief before it left his lungs. Of course she hadn't stormed off on foot. She wasn't ever an idiot; Lisbon was entirely too practical for such an adolescent show of temper. He put on his best nonchalant smile. "Of course. No, that would have been silly, right? The boss is the boss after all, right, Rigsby?" He could feel the cracked edge of the jovial smile digging into the corners of his mouth and hoped Rigsby wouldn't notice in the poor light and his weariness.

With a measuring frown, Rigsby stuck out a finger to pull the keys towards him. Maybe he'd just drive after all. Jane was behaving more like an unpredictable lunatic than normal. "Yeah," he drawled, opening the driver-side door. "Okay, man. Let's go get some food and some shut eye."

---

Cho and Van Pelt had left her room not two minutes ago, Lisbon thought as she poured the thick liquid under the stream of steaming water from the taps. What could they possibly not have understood? They had nothing to work on tonight- she'd combined her findings with the research they'd completed, called Minelli and given him an update and sent them off for the night. The knock sounded again, a civil knock that said nothing critical had happened. "Just a damn minute!" she shouted from the bathroom.

Still drying her hands on a towel, Lisbon made her way to the door with a grumble. She wanted to take the very large virgin margarita she'd indulgently ordered from room service and the very hot bath she was running and forget this whole night ever happened. The face distorted by the fish eye lens of the peephole destroyed that possibility. Wrenching the door open as far as the security chain allowed, she snarled, "Go away, Jane!" and promptly slammed the door closed again.

He knocked again, just as politely.

"I said go away!"

Another knock, followed by a few seconds silence. "Lisbon, I'm prepared to knock until you either hear me out or shoot me in annoyance."

She wanted to do just that… but the paperwork would be a bitch. Not to mention that she wasn't sure self-defense included preemptive shootings of smarmy, self-important fake psychics who presumed they could violate her emotional barriers. With a roll of her eyes, she yanked the bath taps to the off position, pulled a sweatshirt on over her work clothes and, after a moment's indecision, grabbed the frosty glass with the swirly straw. If patience couldn't get her through this, maybe sugar would.

Jane was poised with one hand raised to knock again when she yanked the door open. "Fine." She gave an exaggerated sweep of her arm. "Come on in, Jane."

Instead, he paused on the threshold, head cocked. "Is that… cinnamon?" He sniffed experimentally. "It is. It's the same scent you had on when I was blind from the explosion. It's very alluring, like a batch of fresh-made cookies," he added with a crooked smile.

"It's Holiday Spice bubble bath," she replied with a sigh of resignation. The man was utterly incapable of staying on topic, particularly when it was related to his own guilt.

As if the answer satisfied him, he stepped into the room, allowing her to close the door behind him. "Ah," Jane mused. "So it's a special edition? Christmas time, I presume?"

"Yes," she confirmed, giving him the look that meant 'get to the point, and fast.'

Jane nodded. "And you save it for particularly trying episodes, for when you most need to relax?"

She leveled an irritated glare at him as she sank into the semi-comfortable chair that comprised the advertised 'sitting area' of the hotel room. "Isn't this interpretive reading crap what got you in hot water in the first place, Jane?"

He perched on the edge of one of the double beds facing her, his hands clasped repentantly in his lap. "Well, yes, I suppose it is. But it's who I am, Lisbon. I'm sorry -very sorry- for what happened earlier, but I can't promise you it won't inadvertently happen again. I refuse to lie to you about such personal affairs. All I can say is that I will make every effort to respect the emotional boundaries you establish."

And just like that, looking at his earnest face, the boiling hurt and anger she'd been swimming in for the past hour evaporated. Patrick Jane was an obnoxious pain in her ass sometimes, but he wasn't malicious. She suspected his mouth was usually three steps ahead of his brain, which was in turn a good mile in front of his conscience. Lisbon nodded, taking a long, slurping sip of virgin margarita, and wondered why she always had such a hard time holding a grudge against him. "Okay."

"May I?" he asked, leaning forward to grasp the glass as she lowered it. "That looks delicious, and I'm parched. I haven't had anything to drink since we left the office."

The glass slipped from her shocked fingers and she looked on in consternation as he took a long drink, smacking his lips in contentment when he was done. "See, that right there? That's a boundary," she groused when she recovered her voice. "Stealing my comfort drink is a boundary. Don't do it again."

Jane gave her a sparkling grin as he handed it back half empty. "Strawberry. A perfect choice." Holding up his hands innocently, he added, "But next time I'll ask."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're never going to learn that there's less trouble if you ask permission before doing something?" She should be furious- he'd completely violated her privacy barely an hour earlier, and now he was usurping her sugary drink without even a by-your-leave. Instead, she was fighting not to smile. God, something was wrong with her brain.

"That implies that I'm subject to others' rules," he replied easily. "Besides, I've always been a proponent of the 'better to ask forgiveness than permission' school of thought." He leaned back on his hands. "But that's not what's bothering you, Lisbon. You're just mad that you're not mad."

Shaking her head, Lisbon sank further into the chair. "Your brand of logic is almost pathologically illogical, Jane. You know that, don't you?"

He shrugged eloquently. "It's perfectly logical, Lisbon, I assure you- there is definitely a method to my madness. If I thought like the rest of you, I wouldn't be the brilliant case-closing consultant that I am."

"Or the narcissist," she parried easily.

His face closed down for a split second before the diamond-hard grin that masked every thought in his head appeared. "I'm still working on the ego issues. Every time I make some progress, I decide that I'm perfect as I am."

Giggling was not something Lisbon often acknowledged she was capable of; in fact, she'd been able to deny it for most of her adult life. Grown women did not giggle. Cops did not giggle. But most of all, Teresa Lisbon did not giggle. She had to chalk up the sound coming out of her mouth to a long drive and exhaustion. It was the only logical reason she'd be giggling at Jane's weak joke.

Giving his knees a slap, Jane pushed to his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets before giving her a gentle smile. "So I guess I should go grab dinner and leave you to your Holiday Spice bath." He paused, blue eyes thoughtful. "Goodnight, Lisbon," he said softly, heading for the door. "And thanks for forgiving me; I would never intentionally hurt you like that."

---

Cho and Van Pelt had finished their meals and were sipping coffee when Jane walked into the small restaurant of the hotel. Rigsby was too busy trying to demolish a mammoth sub and a pile of fries at the same times to do more than wave distractedly at Jane.

"Menu?" Van Pelt passed him the plastic-sleeved page with a sympathetic nod. "You must be starving, Jane. It's almost ten o'clock, and Rigsby said you guys didn't pack any food in the Suburban."

With a shrug, he looked over the offerings. Heavy on the saturated fat with no sign of a fresh vegetable in sight. Just what he wanted and, because luck was clearly favoring him tonight, no Lisbon to nag about his cholesterol. When Darlene the waitress came for his order, Jane took a perverse pleasure in asking for extra honey mustard with his fried chicken and mashed potatoes.

"She'll find out, you know," Cho pointed out as the waitress left.

Jane pulled a face. "Not if you don't tell on me to Mommy, she won't."

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Rigsby leaned back contentedly. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his stomach. "God, it feels good to not have the feeling that the noise my stomach is making is it digesting my gallbladder."

Van Pelt turned to him with an exasperated sigh. "If you ate more filling, nutritious foods, you wouldn't always be starving. And really, your gallbladder is next to your liver, not your stomach."

He made a silly face at her. "Sorry, Doctor Van Pelt. I'll tell my personal chef to pack something more appropriate next time-Ow! Hey, uncalled for!" He rubbed his ribs were she'd given him a light backhanded slap. "Why is it okay for you to take a shot at me when you know I can't hit back?"

Jane grinned at Cho, who simply rolled his eyes and poured more sugar into his coffee cup.

"Chicken and mash," the waitress announced as she delivered the plate to Jane with a flirtatious smile. "Anything else I can get you guys?"

With a start, Rigsby and Van Pelt remembered the other two people at the table. "So where's Lisbon?" Rigsby asked, coughing into his hand in embarrassment.

"Probably sleeping," Cho replied as Jane said, 'Taking a bubble bath.'

They looked at one another. "No, she's really taking a bubble bath. Holiday Spice," Jane confirmed, spooning up his potatoes. They were perfectly creamy, with buckets of milk and butter. Just how he liked them. Closing his eyes, he savored the taste. When he opened them again, it was to a silent table with three sets of curiously disbelieving eyes.

"And how do you know that?" Van Pelt asked with a raised eyebrow. Even Jane couldn't guess what scent bubble bath Lisbon used without seeing it.

Cho sat farther back in his chair and sipped at his coffee, his black eyes never leaving the blond man's face. "She said she was going to bed when we left a little while ago."

It was so quiet for a moment that a smirking Rigsby's whisper to Van Pelt was clearly audible. "I bet he knows what color underwear she wears, too."

Ignoring the weird vibe, Jane took another bite. "Black, I imagine. She favors dark clothing for work, and most women don't spend good money on brown or grey underwear." He flourished his fork. "These potatoes are heavenly. Did any of you have them? If not, I'd be happy to share."

"Thanks, but no," Van Pelt said with a wave of her hand. "But seriously, Jane. How on earth do you know what kind of bubble bath Lisbon is taking?"

He threw her a smile. "Are you sure? They really are the best potatoes I've had in a while. No? All right." Jane ate the last mouthful with relish before responding to her question. "And I was there, of course. There are limits to what I can deduce, Grace. Even I can't predict a woman's bubble preference from infinite possibilities without major clues."

Silence reigned for a long moment before Cho pushed his chair back with a metallic scrape. "Okay, too weird for my tastes. I'm going to bed. Coming, man?"

Shooting a look at Van Pelt who was silently counting out money for the tip, Rigsby shook his head. "Uh, no thanks. I was thinking of taking a quick walk, you know, to work off the food first. Do you, uh, want to come, Van Pelt?"

Her head shot up. "What? Oh, a walk? Yeah, sure- I'm not really tired. I was just going to watch TV for awhile, but that sounds good." She missed the look of beaming pleasure on Rigsby's handsome face at her answer as she turned to Jane. "Do you want to come, too? We could wait for you." Again, she missed Rigsby's expression- this time, the look of a crestfallen man who'd seen his chance with a beautiful woman evaporate.

Jane didn't have the heart to kick a man when he was down. "No, thanks, I'm beat," he lied easily. "I'm turning in as soon as I finish up here."

Cho leaned against the table as he waited for Jane. "Nice thing you did there," he complimented, jerking his head in the direction of the courtyard the pair had headed for. "I'm still not sure I believe you about Lisbon, though. Are you two doing it?"

"Doing what?" Jane stood and stretched. The food had been greasy and fantastic. "Oh, that. No, certainly not. Lisbon and I are just colleagues, Cho, the same as you and I are."

Tucking their receipt into his wallet, Cho leveled an assessing gaze at Jane. "I don't know what color underwear or what kind of soap you use, and I don't want to. I don't think the topic has ever crossed your mind with any of us, which by definition means whatever's going on with you two, it's not just like the rest of us."

That was certainly accurate, now that Jane considered it. "True," he allowed. "But I only went to apologize to her. I interrupted her preparations for a bath and asked what scent it was." He wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with the piercing gaze Cho kept pinned on him.

The other man nodded. "Whatever. Rigsby and I flipped for the beds. You lost- couch or pullout cot?"

Well. Lisbon and Van Pelt got their own rooms, but the three of them had to share one? "Why are we sandwiched in one room like sardines? Has Minelli cut the expense account limit again?"

"Nope. Van Pelt sprang for her own room. Said she wanted some peace and quiet- claims Lisbon snores like a truck driver."

Jane grinned as he filed that information away for later use. He was sure it would be good for at least an embarrassed blush- possibly even an indignant squeak if he timed it correctly. He was very good at timing.

* * *

A/N: I'm feeling a little childish today. Who's in the mood for a little preview guessing game? I've got a single line of dialogue below from the next chapter, and I've chosen the clues carefully, so look for hidden meaning! The first reviewer who can guess the scenario wins a ficlet of their request, or the next chapter early- your choice. And away we go!

Jane's Comment:

_"Incidentally, Lisbon, I was wrong." He gave her a roguish wink. "You're almost certainly a 32C."_

Clues:

_Yes, he's talking about her bra size and no, it's not nearly as sordid as you'd think (or hope!)._

_The scenario relates both to a comment of Jane's in Chapter Two of this story and canon from a recent episode of The Mentalist._

_Underdog figures into the conversation, as does Samhain._

_And finally- it involves an adult shop, glitter, a blonde wig and a miniscule green dress._

Have at it, guys! I hope those are specific enough without giving it all away, but I suppose I'll find out if the first reviewer guesses correctly, won't I? Happy guessing!

Hugs,

-MBA


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Clearly I am incapable of keeping to my self-imposed 3,000 word chapter maximum, since this is my second major violation. Oh well- not like you guys are going to complain, right? :D Also, catch the A/N at the end for the guessing game results.

Hugs,

-MBA

* * *

Stretching languorously, Lisbon strolled out of the elevator and headed for the hotel's little restaurant. She'd slept surprisingly well last night. The bubble bath must have once again worked its miracle. She'd woken not to her blaring alarm Tuesday morning, but a call from Minelli saying the governor had pressed him to stay on the case even though things were nearly flat-lined. As a result, they'd be up here until Friday, come hell or high water.

Lisbon grinned. Hey, who was she to turn down an order from her boss to take a few days of light work? She'd have the team harass the M.E. for her autopsy notes, talk to everyone the family ever spoke to in town and walk around the countryside with the search parties. Compared to their normal caseload, this was like a vacation. And if they found a lost little boy and a murderer out of all of this, that much better. Spying the team already seated at a table by the window, Lisbon waved.

"Morning," she breathed happily, ignoring the skeptical look that passed between Cho and Rigsby. She was allowed to be pleasant in the morning, dammit. Just because you could record seasonal shifts by the occurrence was no reason to look so dubious. She smiled at Van Pelt, who smiled back happily. My, someone was chipper this morning. Must have been a good night's sleep for her, too.

"So, is the food here any good?" She perused the menu with interest. She was famished.

"Excellent," Jane replied around the edge of his teacup.

Frowning slightly, Lisbon eyed the liquid. It was suspiciously light. "Is there cream and sugar in that?" she demanded, snapping her eyes to his face. "Are you cheating on your diet already?"

The smile he gave her would have done an angel proud in its innocence. "Nonfat milk and Splenda, Mother. Don't worry, I'm behaving."

Hmm. He was never so compliant. "What did you have for dinner last night?" Lisbon asked, settling back in her chair and crossing her arms as she studied her consultant's too-innocent face.

"Grilled chicken and rice," Jane lied easily, avoiding looking at Van Pelt or Rigsby. Her expression of utter indignation would likely send him into gales of laughter, and Rigsby was almost certainly giving him an empathetic look that would tip Lisbon off immediately.

"Good," she said, turning back to the breakfast menu after giving him a dubious glance.

When their waitress came over and Jane saw that it was again Darlene, a feeling of unease settled in his belly.

"Good morning!" she chirped brightly. "Come back to sample our breakfast this time, have you?"

Jane groaned when Lisbon smiled. It was more like the baring of fangs before a cat leaps at an unsuspecting bird.

"Good morning yourself, Darlene. You know these guys?" Lisbon bit down on her smirk. Jane was lying through his teeth, and here came her chance to prove it on a silver platter.

It was a virtual certainty now that Lisbon had picked up on his lie. He had the distressing feeling that Lisbon was about to rain hell down on him once Darlene the waitress spilled the proverbial beans, and he had no doubt now that Lisbon would get the information out of the poor woman.

"Oh yes," the waitress replied with a sunny smile. "Came in last night for dinner real late. I figured you all would sleep in after a night like that. In fact, they were my last customers before we closed up." Efficiently setting a new cup in front of Lisbon, she held up the coffee carafe. "Can I pour you some?"

Lisbon took a delicate pull from the cup the second it hit the table in front of her. Mmm, that was pretty good coffee. Tasted like a fresh pot, too. "Great. You don't by chance remember what the one in the stuffy three-piece suit ordered, do you?" Hooking a thumb at Jane, she smiled pleasantly.

'Say no,' Jane silently ordered, wishing he could pause the tableau about to unfold, hypnotize Darlene and foil Lisbon's plot. Instead, he settled for appreciating the fact that he was neither sitting across from her nor next to her. Given the relative shortness of her reach, he was fairly certain he was safe for the moment. From physical retribution, anyway. And his suit was not stuffy; he thought combining the navy vest with the grey suit was rather dapper of him, actually.

Darlene studied her pen and notepad for a moment. "Sure. Waitresses have memories like elephants- at least the ones that want to stay employed do. He had the meatball sub with extra fries-" She pointed at Rigsby with her pen. "The young lady had the grilled chicken and rice, and the handsome one-" She winked flirtatiously at Cho. "-had the steak fajitas. This one with all the pretty blond curls came in late and ordered the fried chicken with mashed potatoes. Extra honey mustard," she added giving Jane a warm smile, clearly not realizing she had just dug his grave, knocked him into it and backfilled the hole in one fell swoop.

The sparkle in Lisbon's eyes was dangerously bright, but all she said was, "Okay, great. Thanks," before calmly ordering her breakfast.

Waiting for Darlene to leave, Jane braced for the lecture, but Lisbon turned to Van Pelt and began issuing orders for the day. He waited for an annoyed outburst, but Lisbon got caught up in a good-natured argument with Cho about whether the Kings would be any good next year. In fact, the entire breakfast passed without Lisbon saying a single word about his little white lie.

They were on their way out to the cars when she sidled up to him and announced with perfect equanimity, "After we get back to the hotel tonight, you have twenty minutes to change and meet me in the gym. I'm going to work you out until you puke that fried chicken with extra sauce right back up."

"But it's digested and gone," he complained sourly. "Besides, I'm a grown man. You can't tell me what to eat, woman." A triumphant grin settled on his lips with his next thought. "And I didn't grab my gym bag, only the overnight pack you make us all take. Sorry- I'll have to take a rain check on that exercise date."

She gave him a bland smile. "You're right; you're an adult, and I should be able to trust that you'll follow orders from the doctor, Minelli and me- but I can't, because you're a pig-headed egomaniac who thinks we're all interfering idiots. What I can make you do is exercise to my standards during work hours, which includes this entire trip, and I intend to." The smile stayed firmly in place, though it grew exponentially in wickedness. "And don't worry, Jane; when I stowed my gear in the vehicle, I made sure to grab your gym bag for you. It seemed so lonely all by itself under your desk."

Great, he thought, watching her sail away jauntily. The woman was practically floating at the thought of torturing him.

---

The day passed slowly, but all said, Lisbon felt they'd made at least a little headway in the Marshall case. The boy was still missing, but the medical examiner had confirmed that cause of death for Mrs. Leila Marshall had been a single gunshot wound to the left temple, which made things a whole lot more troublesome. Either someone had pulled alongside her car or made a shot from a sniper's nest that was impossible for all but the most gifted of marksmen. She was hoping it was the former, which was why she had Rigsby and Van Pelt down at the Santa Cruz PD station, watching footage from every security camera they could find. Maybe there'd be a plate or a face they could pull that had followed her out to the ravine.

Cho planted himself on the bench next to her. "Jane said you wanted to talk to me."

She nodded slowly, keeping an eye on Jane, who had taken over talking to the elderly man that ran the gas station. "There's a second possibility given the autopsy findings. The car was moving when the shot was made, so if the gunman wasn't next to her in a car, forcing her over the bridge, then-"

"She was sniped," he finished dispassionately, looking out at the horizon. "Yeah, I thought of that too. One of Rigsby's crime scene photos showed a good spot for a nest."

Lisbon fiddled with the edge of her notepad. Cho had, in no uncertain terms, made this topic off limits when he'd joined her team, but she had to cross the line for this. "I need your opinion," she said quietly, looking straight ahead. "Our SWAT guys said it's way beyond them, and the FBI are being real pricks- claim we can't get any info unless they send out a consultant, and you know how they get. They'll take the case over, devote too little manpower to it and it'll end up a cold case."

An uncomfortable silence stretched out for some time. Finally, Cho reached for her notebook. "Photos and measurements in there?"

The breath she'd been holding whooshed out. "Yeah. I double-checked the angles and measurements myself this morning at the scene. It's accurate."

Papers shuffled and flipped, and Lisbon listened to the birds twitter and the cars rush by, wondering when exactly it was in her career that she accepted that normal life continued without regard for even the most heinous of crimes. The world continued to operate, people continued to laugh and smile, unaware that somewhere, tragedy had wrecked someone's life.

"It's possible. The sight lines are clean, no obstructions, and the angle's good. Distance is within the max accuracy range of an M24 or an RC50." Cho set the papers on his lap and looked at Lisbon. "He had to be a hell of a shot, though. Hitting as small a target as a head in a moving vehicle is a circus shot, even for a trained marksman."

Well, shit. She'd really thought it had been a sniper. There'd been no scrapes on the car and no marks on the road to indicate someone had pulled alongside for the shot. "Are you sure?"

He snorted. "I couldn't have made the shot. There's always a chance he's better, though."

Lisbon nodded as she took back the photos and her notes. Cho had been the best the Marines Force Recon had had. If he said no, then it had to have been something else. "Wait!" she exclaimed, pulling the pictures back out and flipping through them frantically for the one she wanted. "Okay, right here. Look at this pile of debris here. It's what- seventy or eighty feet from where she went off the road? What if the shooter had put up a roadblock of sorts? You know, set it up in the road so she was forced to slow down to go around?"

Cho nodded, looking more closely at the photo. "Yeah. Cutting her speed to around twenty miles an hour or less would have made the shot viable." He frowned. "I didn't think of that."

She avoided spouting the comforting words that jumped to her tongue. She knew without question that Cho would hate her just a little if she voiced them. Clearing her throat, Lisbon shouted, "Jane!" Whirling a finger over her head in the universal sign of 'wrap it up and let's go,' she stood. "Alright, that means we need to widen our search. Let's start looking at any and everyone that can make that shot that has a connection to Senator or Mrs. Marshall."

---

"Oh, come on, Jane, don't be such a baby!" Lisbon wanted to laugh hysterically and smack him at the same time. He'd bitched and moaned through the short free weight session they'd done, tried to piss her off so much she'd quit during pushups and sit-ups and was currently and vociferously refusing to get on the treadmill. The only time he hadn't been obnoxious was during the warm-up stretching.

He pointed at it disdainfully. "No. Those things are monotonous torture devices designed to drive me into a coma from boredom."

If she could pick one up and throw it at him, she would. "You wouldn't have to do this if you'd just eat better like I said." At his mutinous look, she offered through clenched teeth, "For God's sake, you can borrow my iPod if you'll just get on the stupid thing."

"I don't like those either," Jane replied, scorn stamped all over his face. "People use them to isolate themselves in their own little worlds. It makes any reading you get off them worthless."

Fine. They'd do this the hard way. Walking behind him, she put both hands firmly on the small of his back and forced him forward. "Get. On. The. Damned. Treadmill," Lisbon gritted out as she pushed. He was stubborn as a mule and stronger than he looked. Finally, she got him to the point where he either had to step up onto the machine or risk being shoved flat onto his face.

He was quite enjoying this, truth be told. Acting belligerent about everything she suggested seemed to shred Lisbon's patience, and watching the last thread of her tolerance snap was well worth the price of turning down the chance to see what music she listened to. She was amusing when she decided to stop playing the understanding boss and start acting like the domineering woman she was at heart.

The quiet whir of the belts on the two treadmills was like balm to Lisbon's temper. "Just set it at 4.0 for a warm-up and we'll go up to a 7.0 for the run, okay? If you can go half an hour, I'll call it even for the night." She looked over at Jane, who, other than being slightly damp at the armpits, looked like he hadn't even been exerting himself. Glancing down only confirmed that she was a sweaty mess. She'd probably burned more calories yelling at him than actually working out.

Poor Lisbon, Jane thought with a small smirk. He'd given her five whole minutes of silence to regain her cool, acting the docile fool and jogging slowly without a word. This wasn't as hard as he'd thought.

"Okay, that's the end of the warm-up," Lisbon said, punching a button in front of her. "Kick it up to 7.0, Jane. Remember- half an hour and you're done, so gut it out, okay?"

Wait- what? That was just the warm-up? With much trepidation, he set the treadmill to the correct speed. Okay, this was faster than he'd done since beginning his fledgling workout program, but it was manageable. He had the sudden thought that he owed his father a debt for the long legs he'd inherited; this speed must be murder on someone as short as Lisbon- but looking over dispelled that illusion. She was tooling along without a problem, breathing easily through her nose. "The monotony is punishment enough, you know," he called over to her.

"Oh, stuff it up your nose," she shot back with a smile, wiping sweat off her face with the back of a hand. Pretty soon he'd be too out of breath to complain anymore. "You've been on the stupid thing for barely six minutes, Jane. It's not my fault you've let yourself go so badly you can't run more than ten feet without gasping like a beached fish."

He cocked a brow and turned forward. She thought he couldn't do it simply because he didn't want to? Disregarding the transparent attempt to goad him into running to simply affirm his manhood, he chose to do it instead to as a self challenge. He was reasonably muscled and thin despite his sedentary lifestyle; of course he could do it. He simply didn't like to.

Ten minutes later, Jane was ready to concede the battle. He was gasping for air and the feel of drops of sweat trickling between his shoulder blades was driving him batty. "Why don't I ever get to testify at trials?" he asked, panting, looking for anything to distract him for the next nine minutes. She bent a look on him that bespoke volumes. He was fairly certain it involved aspersions on his intelligence.

Lisbon snorted and picked up the pace, setting the incline on her treadmill higher. She loved working up a good sweat; it gave her a high. "Only an idiot would let you loose in court, Jane. Besides, Minelli would have my head after the Director and the Attorney General were done chewing him out."

"Why?" Jane grimaced. He was down to gasping out one word questions.

"One- you can't follow the simplest of rules," she puffed. "Two, the defense would throw a party if you ever got on the stand."

The little clock on his treadmill read 23:49. Oh, thank God. Six more minutes of this hell and he was done. "But I'm personable. Juries would love me!" A piercing stitch in his side began to thump in time with his hammering heart. It was decidedly uncomfortable. This running business was more exhausting than he remembered.

Lisbon grinned widely; he looked like he was actually about to throw up. Served the sneaky idiot right if he did, she thought uncharitably. If he hadn't whined so much earlier, she probably would have let him off by now. "You're the Anti-Christ of procedure, Jane. Hitler would get off with an acquittal with you on the stand."

24:17. He was certain the treadmill clock moved slower than actual time. It felt like he'd been running since at least January. "What?" Focus on Lisbon, he ordered himself. Pay attention to her voice. Get your mind off that horribly mocking clock.

"The only good things I can say about your methods are that you do get results, however they're obtained, and our assistant district attorneys are becoming brilliant trial lawyers having to accommodate for your actions. I'm surprised you haven't received a death threat from one yet, actually." When he scoffed, she stabbed a finger at him between the two treadmills and almost fell for her efforts. "Name one time you produced evidence or a confession that complied with state regulations on chain of evidence or witness rights."

He marveled she'd been able to say all of that. He'd have been unable to get past the first sentence in her place. 25:01. God damn it. "Can I get back to you on that when I'm not considering faking an aneurysm to get out of this torture?"

She smirked as she brought the treadmill down to jogging speed. "Alright, Mr. Whiner, we'll cool down for the last five minutes. Bring it back down to 4.0. But tomorrow we run for two miles," she added with a sweaty grin.

"What?" That couldn't be. Jane looked down at the digital readout on his treadmill. 1.6 miles, it flashed in its hateful little red lights. He felt like he'd just finished the Boston Marathon. One and a half stinking miles? "You're kidding," he muttered.

"Nope." Lisbon hadn't felt this cheerful in days- not since she'd handed him a plain chamomile tea. Having a means of getting back at Jane for all the crap she caught for him and his antics was good for her soul. She began to whistle merrily as Jane gasped and puffed muttered profanities next to her. If he was cursing, she'd done her job.

---

At 12:09 a.m., Lisbon sat up with a jolt. Something had woken her up. The hotel phone was silent, as was her cell. Ah- the knock at her door sounded again. Throwing off the covers, she padded to the door wearily. "This better be good," she grumbled, opening the door for a fully-dressed, wide awake Jane. "Someone important had better be dead."

"Hello, Lisbon," he said cheerily, sliding into the room before she could blink sleepily. "I couldn't sleep, and thought I'd come over for a talk since last night's conversation was so interesting." He settled himself firmly in her chair and crossed one ankle over the other knee, looking at her expectantly the entire time.

She pointed at the door without preamble. "Out."

Jane grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. "But you always say that if any of us ever need to talk, your door is open."

"That's state-mandated bull and you know it, Jane." Giving up, she climbed back into bed and pulled the deliciously warm covers to her waist. With a jaw-cracking yawn, she scooted down a little farther. "Go away. Go wake up Cho or Rigsby."

How sweet vengeance could be, Jane thought with a smirk. His thigh muscles were screaming from her little workout earlier. "No, I want to talk to you." Clapping his hands sharply when her eyelids drooped closed, he winked. "You were falling asleep, Lisbon."

Plumping the pillow behind her back, she tried to glare at him, but suspected the expression probably fell more in the area of punch-drunk stupor. "I tend to do that in the middle of the night. Come on, Jane, don't be so petty. Or at least be petty in the morning."

"No, pettiness right now suits me just fine." He knew the sunny air was over the top, but it was her just desserts. Even his butt hurt from that cursed contraption. "We're adults- perfectly capable of holding a discussion, regardless of the hour. What if I had an emotional breakthrough and wanted to talk about it with you?"

Lisbon snorted. "The only breakthrough is going to involve my foot, your ass and the door."

He bounced a foot on the end of her mattress. "Wakey, wakey, my immature Sleeping Beauty."

"Ooh, a Disney reference. Aren't you clever," Lisbon drawled, knowing without cracking her eyes that he had seen her Disney Princess shorts, a gift from her niece last Christmas. "And this coming from the king of the ten year olds," she muttered. "Peter Pan had nothing on you."

Jane smiled at the slowly sinking bundle that was Lisbon wrapped in blankets. Another two or three scoots and she'd be prone and fast asleep. "I always did enjoy that particular story." The smile widened into a grin. "Does that make you my Wendy?"

"What?" Lisbon shot upright, eyes flying open and blankets falling to her lap. "No," she denied, slightly horrified.

He tapped his chin. "No. Perhaps you're more of a Tinker Bell," he mused, ducking to the side as she winged the empty water bottle from her nightstand at him. Unfazed, he added, "Incidentally, did you know Wendy named her daughter Jane in the 1911 novel? Nice piece of trivia there." He propped both feet up on her bed, lacing his fingers over his belly. "Back to Tinker Bell- beyond the blatantly simple comparison of size, you certainly do possess the correct balance of mischief, loyalty and desire to help."

"Jane." The one word was overflowing with warning, though her expression lacked any heat. After all, she only had herself to blame for bringing up the Peter Pan reference. It served her right. "I'm not Tinker Bell."

Eyes alight with an idea that clearly amused him -greatly- he sat forward, ignoring the shrieking protest in his hamstrings. "No, Lisbon, it's perfect. You make me that superhero costume for next Halloween, and in return, I'll procure you an appropriate Tinker Bell ensemble. It will be far superior to the rubbish everyone came up with at the last Halloween party."

So much for going back to sleep- she was wide awake now, but she had to agree. The CBI Halloween party cooked up by Maggs had been filled to the ceiling with unimaginative costumes. Zombie police officers, Ace bandage-wrapped mummies and pirates could be identified in packs. Martinowicz' entire team had arrived wearing head-to-toe black and calling themselves a thieves' den. Lisbon had almost hoped Jane would arrive as Little Bo Peep or something equally absurd, but he'd simply come with a shiny suit and a bible. God help her, but she'd guffawed when he'd informed everyone he'd come as a TV evangelist. He'd ratcheted the smarminess up to a ten that night. Privately, she'd thought Jane lecturing Agent Jackson on the need to dedicate his life to the Lord might be one of the funniest things she'd ever seen. "You might have a point," she allowed, propping herself up more securely against the headboard. "It was pretty boring, costume-wise."

"You certainly could have tried harder," he chastised gently. "Your hockey outfit wasn't particularly inspired either, you know."

"Right," Lisbon drawled snidely. "So you think I should slap on a blond wig and a green dress the size of a tissue instead in front of my people, colleagues and my boss?" She snorted and waved a hand at him. "You're insane."

"Don't forget the wings and sparkly glitter," he added with a sanguine sweep of the hand back at her. "Tinker Bell glitters when she flies."

"Jane, you're ridiculous. I'm not dressing up as Tinker Bell."

Frankly, he was surprised she simply hadn't lost her temper and ordered him to leave yet. Lisbon was fairly mellow for a woman woken in the middle of the night for a juvenile prank. "But you are," he countered. "We have a verbal agreement. You make me a superhero costume and I get you one. Sorry, Lisbon. Too late to back out now."

A flash of inspiration struck just as Lisbon opened her mouth to argue the point. She imagined her smile looked as wickedly satisfied as she felt. "Alright, Jane. After all, a deal's a deal, like you said."

He crossed his ankles on her blanket and studied her with a little frown of unease. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," she denied airily.

"Lisbon." He cocked his head and looked at her for several long moments. "Ah- you've thought of a particularly demeaning superhero, haven't you? I'm going to get a box with Underdog in it, aren't I?"

She smirked. "Nope. I am wondering if you know how to work the Lasso of Truth, though."

That took him aback and for a moment, Jane was speechless. Then he began to laugh, holding his side. "That would be quite a sight," he gasped out, before collapsing back into merriment. "Can you imagine the look on Minelli's face? Or Jackson, that homophobic buffoon? It might be worth it, just for the reaction." He straightened, the humor subsiding and being replaced by calculation. "Don't think I won't retaliate though, Lisbon. I do believe adult shops carry a version of Tinker Bell. What are you, a 34B?" He gave her chest an appraising sweep of the eyes.

Her hands rose automatically to cover herself. "Go jump in a lake, Jane. The day I tell you my bra size is the day I cock up my toes and die." She pointed at him warningly. "And don't think I won't shoot you if you try to go through my things. Or buy me a hooker Tinker Bell costume, because I'm an excellent shot. I can shoot off your little toe and watch you hobble around for a few months without a single pang of conscience."

Rising gracefully from the chair, Jane rounded the foot of her bed and closed the distance between them with an air of supreme unconcern. Pulling her to her feet, he took her hand in his and shook it. "You have a deal, Lisbon. A proper Tinker Bell for you it is- unless I receive a Wonder Woman costume from you. Then you'll have to suffer a building full of drunken, horny agents asking you to grant their salacious wishes." He grinned. "But it's getting late, and I'm sure Cho and Rigsby will be wondering where I am soon. Can't have them thinking I ducked out for a midnight visit to the boss now, can we?" He headed for the door and paused with one hand on the handle. "Incidentally, Lisbon, I was wrong." He gave her a roguish wink. "You're almost certainly a 32C."

He ducked out of her room a split second before the shoe hit the door at head level with a resounding _thwack_!

Jane laughed all the way down the corridor.

* * *

A/N2: **YukinaKid**, **Elodie Wolfe**, and **lets just call me.** - All three of you had really great guesses that made me smile, so I figure all three of you deserve the prize. You can add in your review whether you want the next chapter two days early or a ficlet written for you. If you want the fic, I'll PM you for details.

As usual, any and all reviews will be snuggled and giggled over. Yes, it's sad, but hey- I'm sure someone will start up Review Addicts Anonymous soon. Until then, I'm forced to continue pleading. :) Happy weekend, everyone!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: My God, so it's been forever and a day since I've updated, hasn't it? Lots of real life stuff has happened, but you don't want to hear all that. It took me a little while to feel my way back into the story and the characters' voices, so please forgive me if they're a little staid in this chapter. I'll do my best to get things back on track quickly.

* * *

Lisbon sighed happily as she wrung water out of her hair and stepped out of the shower. After a crappy day of chasing down dead end leads, nothing was as satisfying as a scalding hot shower. In her more fanciful moments, she could almost picture watching her impatience and annoyance wash down the drain with the shampoo and soap. Wiping a hand through the steam on the mirror, she set to all the boring little preparations women the world over had.

Comb hair and pin it up in a bun so it wouldn't drip down her back as it dried. Brush teeth. Moisturize face and neck. File down the nail she'd cracked back at the crime scene. Slather lotion on the dry skin on her shins- she'd always had dry legs. In a spurt of vanity, she pulled the tweezers out of her toiletries kit and tidied up her eyebrows. No one had to know that Teresa Lisbon was prone to bushy eyebrows.

The knock at the door shook her out of the pleasantly empty state of mind as she cleaned up. "Coming!"

Van Pelt stood outside the door still covered in the fine layer of dust that seemed to coat anyone that spent any length of time out at the ravine, her bright hair dulled by the grime. "Got something, boss."

Lisbon waved her in impatiently. It figured they'd get a break the second she went back to the hotel for a shower. "Something on the killer, or a hit on the kid?"

"The kid." A slow smile bloomed on Van Pelt's tired face. "We got a tip off the Amber Alert. A woman called in twenty minutes ago- she saw a boy matching the description with a man in his mid to late thirties at a gas station near Big Sur. Kid was sleeping in the back of a late model Nissan Maxima." When Lisbon opened her mouth, Van Pelt just nodded. "Yes, I notified Minelli. Cho's getting the guys together. I've got the cars all set downstairs. Local PD are executing a close-in sweep and have the car location narrowed down to a six block radius."

Throwing modesty to the wayside, Lisbon dropped her towel and began to dress hurriedly even as she fired questions at Van Pelt. By the time she was yanking on her socks, the younger agent was handing her her shoes. "Thanks," Lisbon huffed, yanking them on. Snatching her weapon, badge and phone, she ran for the door, Van Pelt hot on her heels. They had a child to find.

---

"This… was a good day," Rigsby sighed as he stretched languorously, leaning back in the only chair in Lisbon's room.

Lisbon had to agree. The team had assembled in her room for the conference call with Minelli despite, or perhaps because of, how late it was. The hotel room was about the same size as the local police station, and a far sight more comfortable at midnight. After hours of searching, coordinating and mediating territorial pissing contests, they were able to tell Minelli some good news- they had found the boy, unharmed, though he'd been pretty heavily sedated with sleeping pills. The only downside was that when the search net in Big Sur had finally located and isolated the vehicle identified from the Amber Alert, the car was parked on a residential street, the boy still asleep in the back. The driver had been nowhere to be found.

Another dead end in a series of frustrating leads that failed to pan out.

Still, getting the boy back unharmed had been huge; the senator was at the hospital with him now, waiting for the boy to wake up from his drug-induced slumber. Until the doctors had run their tests on the kid and Forensics had run their tests on the car, there was nothing new for the team to do. Tomorrow they'd start fresh.

Snapping her snazzy new leather portfolio closed, Van Pelt leaned forward from her perch on the end of the bureau and plucked a room service menu from the sheaf of papers on the small table in Lisbon's room. "Anyone hungry? Room service is only open for another half hour."

"Starved," Rigsby replied, leaning back in the chair to give her an upside down grin.

Cho rolled his eyes, stifling a yawn. Shocking. Rigsby hungry. Who'd have thought? Still, he was kind of hungry himself. Six-hour manhunts tend to do that. "How about we head down to the bar and grab sandwiches?" he proposed, thinking it'd be quicker and much cheaper than the always-overpriced room service. "They're open until one."

Stretching until her neck cracked with a satisfying pop, Lisbon pulled out her wallet and tucked a twenty into Van Pelt's hand. "Have a round on me," she said with a tired smile. "You guys deserve a cold beer tonight. You did good."

"Well," Cho corrected with a hint of a smile. He enjoyed poking at his boss on the rare occasions she let her normally-impeccable grammar skills slip. He was almost positive she'd been an English major at one point in college.

Leveling a mock glare at him, Lisbon opened her mouth to reply when a jaw-busting yawn snuck up on her. "I'm going to bed," she said instead. "It's way past my bedtime. You guys clear out, go grab some food and a couple of beers. Relax and sleep well- I'll meet you all in the lobby at eight o'clock tomorrow morning."

The group stood with assorted grumbles, scraping together various papers, badges, weapons and cell phones, the ever-present detritus of law enforcement.

It wasn't until Lisbon plopped down on the end of one bed to unlace her shoes that she realized Jane wasn't getting up with everyone else. "Jane," she prompted loudly, motioning at Rigsby to wake the consultant up.

The largest of her agents gave her pleading eyes more suited to a child than a man. "But, boss, he's sleeping."

"Yes, Rigsby, I gathered," she shot back dryly. "Which would be why I'm telling you to wake him up. If he's that tired, he can go sleep in his own bed."

Both Cho and Rigsby fixed her with disbelieving stares. "Seriously?" Cho responded, one eyebrow cocked high in his amazement at her complete incomprehension. "Boss, meet Patrick Jane, our consultant. Apparently you've never seen him before."

Lisbon pinned him with a withering frown. "Oh, ha ha, Cho. I know he sleeps like crap, but he can wake up, walk a few doors down and crawl right into his own bed. It won't take more than three minutes." When both men continued to try to beg with their eyes, she threw up her hands defensively. "No way. Nuh uh. It's not going to happen, guys. He can't stay in my room!" she huffed, pinning the two agents with an exasperated stare.

"Oh come on, Lisbon," Rigsby sighed. "He's asleep already. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sleep in the same room as Jane when he's tossing, turning, talking and generally driving you insane because you're trying to sleep when he can't?"

She grimaced. "No, and I don't want to find out." Actually, she'd never thought about it like that, but having to share a room with a chronic insomniac every time they had a case out of town must really suck. God knows how much more annoying Jane must be at three a.m. than in daylight. Suddenly, she had a pang of guilt for all the interrupted sleep Cho and Rigsby must have suffered over the last couple of years.

Rigsby dropped to his knees, hands clasped, and gave her his very best beseeching face. "Please."

"Hard part's over, Lisbon," Cho added. "He's already asleep, and there are two beds, so it's not like you have to share with him or anything." Shooting a look at Rigsby, he pulled out his wallet. "Twenty bucks."

"Forty," Rigsby amended, whipping out his own wallet as Van Pelt looked on in amusement.

Lisbon stared at her team in astonishment. "You're willing to pay me forty bucks to let Jane sleep on my extra bed tonight?" My God, she thought, they must really hate sharing a room with him. "Forty bucks for just this one night?"

"That about sums it up," Cho agreed, daring to hope at the look in Lisbon's eyes.

"Fine," she ceded, shaking her head in amazement. Ignoring the exuberant high five her male agents exchanged, she returned to unlacing her shoes. "But the two of you are taking off his shoes and getting the covers over him," she warned with a small smile. Forty bucks just to let Jane stay where he was currently dead to the world for another five or six hours. It didn't sound like a bad deal at all, and if there was a tiny little twinge about taking money from her subordinates, well, Lisbon was determined to ignore it. After all, Jane was usually a big enough pain in her ass for her to understand exactly why someone would fork over money to avoid him.

Surprisingly, they managed to get his shoes and socks off without Jane batting so much as an eyelash, and efficiently slid the covers from beneath him with little more effort. The man appeared completely oblivious and, if Lisbon didn't know better, she'd say he was faking it. Jane was normally a light sleeper on the rare occasions he truly fell asleep at work, but he had fallen asleep often enough in the last five-plus years for her to know the sound of his breathing when he was out for the count and-

My God, has it really been that long? Lisbon asked herself as she slid the security chain across the door after the team left. Jane had been with her for almost six years. Wow. She shook her head even as she gathered her nightclothes and slipped into the bathroom to change. And to think the other CBI divisions had started a betting pool about how long the wacked out consultant with the creepy insight and smarmy arrogance would last when Minelli had announced he was reassigning Jane to her team. Too bad there hadn't been a caveat for twenty bucks for each week she'd exceeded the anticipated 'freak out' date. She'd have a fistful of cash by now.

Imagining what she'd have done with all of that money, Lisbon puttered around for a few minutes, cleaning up and shuffling together files before sliding between the cool sheets of her bed. Bending a soft smile on the tousle-headed lump in the other bed, she reached up and extinguished the lamp next to her bed. "Goodnight," she said softly, settling down for a much-needed night of peaceful sleep.

---

Jane awoke slowly, savoring the feel of warm blankets around his body and cool air on his face. It might have been a by-product of his Midwestern beginnings, but he had always enjoyed the dichotomy of a warm body and fresh air on his face. With a satisfied sigh, he rolled over and stretched- it wasn't often he slept so well without the aid of prescription drugs or liquor, and the fact that he'd done so in his suit was even more unusual. The fact that he hadn't dreamt at all was almost unheard of.

Idly pulling out his shirt to scratch at his belly, Jane threw off the covers and stumbled to his feet, quickly shedding his vest and belt before tripping sleepily towards the bathroom. It wasn't until he'd come out and was unbuttoning his shirt that he realized he'd been sleeping in a bed and not on the horribly lumpy sofa he'd occupied the last several nights.

A quick peek at the occupant of the other bed filled him in. He'd fallen asleep in Lisbon's room, and everyone had just left him there. Surprising, really, that she had allowed it, but Jane wasn't about to rock the boat. After a brief debate, he decided to leave his button-down shirt on, but take off the pants. After all, he reasoned, sliding back into the still-warm bed, no reason to be uncomfortable. It was only Lisbon, and he didn't think she'd mind what she couldn't see.

He glanced at the bedside clock. Two-thirty. Well, at least he'd gotten a couple of decent hours of sleep. He'd stay in bed, try to be quiet, maybe relax into an easy doze if he could. He didn't fancy waking Lisbon with his tossing and turning- the woman was likely to try to strangle him with her bare hands. The thought brought a fond smile to his face, and he rolled over onto his side to study his roommate for the night. She was on her side, facing his bed, snoring away happily. Jane grinned. She really did snore like a truck driver.

---

Lisbon awoke with a start. Something had disturbed her sleep- ah, just Van Pelt shifting in her bed, making the springs squeak. She snuggled back down under the covers, relishing the thought of a few more hours of sleep.

Wait.

Both eyes sprang back open. Van Pelt had paid for her own room, and the person tossing around on the other bed was neither a redhead nor a female.

Warily, almost expecting a trick, Lisbon raised her head. "Jane?" she called softly in the dark room. The noise stopped abruptly.

Lisbon's husky, sleepy voice slid across his senses, waking Jane at once. "Yes," he replied, his own voice sounding different, lower.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, pulling herself upright and rubbing a hand across a cheekbone.

He smiled when she yawned loudly. "Go back to sleep." A quick glance at the clock told him it would be a few more hours before the sun rose. "I'm just trying to get comfortable."

Fumbling around in the dark, Lisbon finally found her water bottle on the bedstand and took a long pull. "If you want to get up, that's fine." She did her best to swallow another yawn, ignoring Jane's chuckle. Apparently, she hadn't done a very good job. "We can get up for the morning."

"No, no. Really, Lisbon, I'm fine. Sleepy even. Just go back to bed." Astonishingly enough, he _was_ tired. At this rate, he was likely to get more sleep in this one night than he normally did over the course of a work week.

"'K," she mumbled, sliding back down into her blankets, eyes drooping instantaneously.

A few minutes passed before she awoke with a start, hearing him turn over in his bed once again. "For God's sake, Jane," she muttered. "Turn on the light and read a book, or grab my laptop and surf the web. Turn on the TV if you have to, but if you flip over one more time, I'm going to duck tape you to the damn bed."

"Kinky," he shot back, smiling lazily at her muffled laugh.

Several more minutes of dead silence passed before Lisbon sighed noisily and turned towards the other bed, eyeing the lump of covers just visible in the hazy pre-dawn light filtering in from the window she'd left open for air. "Go on, Jane, say something. We both know you're probably just bursting with the urge to talk."

He laced his fingers across his belly and stared at the ceiling in the barely lightening darkness. "Have you ever wondered why the idiot who designed the CBI building decided to make all of the offices glass-enclosed, rather than giving them walls? It defeats the purpose of private offices in the first place. Then to put blinds on them instead is just compounding the stupidity and the gross waste of funds, if you ask me."

Lisbon had often wondered the same herself. "If you look at it like that, yeah. I think I have the best of both worlds, though."

"How so?"

She grinned suddenly in the dark. "Well, for one, I can watch you guys from my office and make sure you're behaving without having to actually listen to the nonsense you usually spout. And on top of that, I can slam my office door in your face and still glare at you right through it if you really piss me off. Ask Rigsby sometime about when I wrote him up his rookie year. I almost made him cry just by scowling at him through that door."

Wriggling closer to the bed's edge nearest her, Jane rolled his eyes. Bah. He could reduce Rigsby to tears in forty-five seconds, if he truly applied himself. Besides- leave it to Lisbon to think of the positives of a privacy-free office in terms of how much or little he could interact with her. "Yes, let's hear it for your little glass cube. Hooray for you. You've reached the pinnacle of career achievement."

Why had she agreed to let him stay in here again for a measly forty dollars? "Some people would say they hope you choke on all that sarcasm," Lisbon replied, thinking wistfully of the sleep she could be having. She rubbed her feet together- she'd kicked her fuzzy socks off at some point during the night, and now her cold toes were annoying her. She hated having cold feet while she slept.

Jane sniffed disdainfully. "Meh. The perpetually unnamed others. They can jump off a perpetually unnamed cliff for all I care." He started when a pillow flew over and hit him squarely in the face. "Hey!"

"You know, Jane, I'm very surprised you've never been seriously assaulted."

"Says who?" he rejoined with a dazzling grin, tossing the pillow gently back to her bed. "You've only known me in my staid adulthood. You should have seen me as a brash teenager. I've engaged in a fight or two in my day."

With another yawn, Lisbon tucked the pillow beneath her head again. If they were already awake, maybe she should just get Jane up and head down to the gym for that workout she'd promised him for cheating on his diet. She wondered briefly if the gym downstairs was open yet, and it took a minute for his previous statement to sink in. "Pissed a couple of people off, have you? Imagine my shock." Grumpily punching a hand into the pillow until it conformed to the shape she wanted, Lisbon added, "You'd think getting the stuffing knocked out of you a few times would have sent a message to that so-called brilliant brain of yours."

Fluffing his own pillow, Jane wriggled farther under the covers, enjoying the warm cocoon and the easy banter. It was like a strange adult interpretation of a sleepover. "Speaking of sarcasm…" He let the statement trail off, waiting until her sleepy laughter devolved into a comfortable, easy silence. "Oh, the stories I could tell you, Lisbon."

Stealing one hand out from beneath her warm pile of blankets, Lisbon waved an imperious hand. "Come on, Jane, don't hold back now. What else are we going to do at four o'clock in the morning?" Imagining the wicked look that was surely on his face after realizing how wrong that last comment must have sounded, she warned, "Don't even go there. I will be forced to get up, walk down the hall, fill a bucket at the ice machine, come back, and dump it on you, and I really don't want to have to do all that."

"Please," he scoffed. "Like I would make immature sexual jokes to my boss. I have a little more class than that, Lisbon." Hearing what sounded suspiciously like a snort issue from her bed, he flipped onto his back and clasped his hands behind his head. "Three weeks before my twenty-first birthday, I was in Miami, Florida-"

"As opposed to…" she interrupted.

Rolling towards her again, Jane grinned. "Oh, there are lots of Miamis out there, Lisbon. There's Miami, Ohio, Miami, Arizona, Miami, Indiana, a Miami right here in California, even."

She flopped over onto her stomach and pillowed her head on her arms, entirely unselfconscious about teasing Jane while wearing nothing but a flimsy tee shirt, a too-short pair of shorts and a headful of crazy, unbrushed hair. After all, it was dark. He couldn't see anything. "You are a fountain of useless knowledge, you know that?"

"Well, it's not useless if you're travelling," he shot back with an indignant twitch of the lips. "And you never want to play against me in Trivial Pursuit. All this so-called useless knowledge will allow me to demolish you with barely any effort at all."

"I'll bear that in mind," she drawled, waving a lazy hand at him. "So, you were in Miami, of the Florida variety, for your twenty-first birthday, and…"

By the time he finished the rather brief but thoroughly entertaining story, she was beginning to snore softly. Jane grinned to himself in the dark and thought drowsily that her snoring, in fact, wasn't so much irritating as it was soothing. Rhythmical, like ocean waves slapping at the shore. It was the last thought he had before drifting back to sleep himself, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

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Reviews, as always, are love. And to be entirely honest, I write fics that are getting good responses more quickly than I do ones that stall out. What can I say? I'm your average fickle review whore writer. :)


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